'■ ■ •' ; , y y. '• v . V. 





iiill 






•tiarr ^rir^Ti1iffii>tii< a i iMi i WTiii i i ; ni^ ii Tii w rttiii Mt r wi iiitMiMiiM>i^)ij iH i i iii ^iO>nir'hit~ Srtwirt^r - - r \ ^iiiifaf>TifW' ni 






Glass 

Book 

THE EDWIN C. DINWIDDIE 
COLLECTION OF BOOKS ON 
TEMPERANCE AND ALLIED SUBJECTS 

(PRESENTED BY MRS. DINWIDDIE) 





A 



ot cX_Ol , 










. 




























































































































' 



























































































* 




. 






- 






- 










* 













. 

































THE RHINE; 


A TOUR 

FROM PARIS TO MAYEN CE 

BY THE WAY OF 

AIX-LA-CHAPELLE. 

WITH AN ACCOUNT OF ITS LEGENDS, ANTIQ- 
UITIES, AND IMPORTANT HISTORI- 
CAL EVENTS. 


BY VICTOR HUGO. 


TRANSLATED BY D. M. AIRD. 


NEW YORK : 

WORTHINGTON COMPANY, 

28 LAFAYETTE PLACE. 

1886. 

4 * * * 

I 

) ) p 


















T>ORN where blooms the Alpine roee, 
Cradled in the Boden See — 

Forth the infant river flows, 

Leaping on in childish glee. 

Coming to a riper age, 

He crowns his rocky cup with wine, 
And makes a gallant pilgrimage 

To many a ruined tower and shrine. 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

FROM PARIS TO FERTE-SOUS-JOUARRB. 

Dammartin : its Literature and Curiosities. — An Accident, 
and its Result. — A German Wagon. — The Pleasures of 
Country Traveling. — The Philosophical Hunchback and 
Reasoning Gendarme. — Meaux and its Curiosities 1 


CHAPTER II. 

MONTMIRAIL — MONTMORT — EPERNAY. 

Montmirail Castle. — Vaux Champs. — The Rencontre, and 
Reflections Thereupon. — Montmort Castle. — Made- 
moiselle Jeannette. — The Churches and Curiosities of 
Epernay. — Anecdote of Strozzi and Brisquet, Henry the 
Second’s Fool II 


CHAPTER III. 

CHALONS— SAINTE MENEHOULD — VARENNES. 

The Reverie. — The Arrest of Louis the Sixteenth. — The Salu- 
tation and its Effects. — Notre Dame at Chalons. — Anti- 


Contents. 


vat 


quarian Forgetfulness. — The Inscription. — Watchman, 
Wife, and Gnome Son. — Abbey of Notre Dame de 
l’Epine. — Storm. — Metz Hotel. — Sleeping Canary. — 
Host and Hostess. — Champagne, and the Signification of 
Champenois. — Madame SabliSre and La Fontaine , . 19 


CHAPTER IV. 

FROM VILLIERS-COTTERETS TO LA FRONTIERE, 

The Effects of Traveling. — The Retrograde Movement. — Re- 
flection. — The Secret of Stars. — The Inscription “ I. C.” 

— The Cathedral where King Pepin was Crowned. — The 
Prisoner’s Sad Rencontre. — Rheims. — Church at Me- 
zieres. — The Effects of a Bomb. — Sedan and its Contents. 

— The Transpiring Events at Turenne’s Birth. — Conver- 
sation of a Sir John Falstaff and his Better-Half . . 32 


CHAPTER V. 

GIVET. 

Flemish Architects. — Little Givet. — The Inscription. — Jose 
Gutierez. — The Peasant Girl ...... 45 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE BANKS OF THE MEUSE— DINANT — NAMUR. 

The Lesse. — A Flemish Garden. — The Mannequin. — The 
Tombstone. — Athletic Demoiselles. — Signboards, and 
their Utility 51 


Contents . 





>x 




CHAPTER VII. 

THE BANKS OF THE MEUSE. — HUY. — LIEGE 

A Chapel of the Tenth Century. — Iron Works of Mr. 
Cockerill ; their Singular Appearance. — St. Paul’s at 
Liege. — Palace of the Ecclesiastical Princes of Liege. 

— Significant Decorations of a Room at Liege . . 56 


CHAPTER VIII 

THE BANKS OF THE VESDRE. — VERVIERS. 

Railways, — Miners at Work. — Louis the Fourteenth . . 66 


CHAPTER IX. 

AIX-LA-CHAPELLE. — THE TOMB OF CHARLEMAGNE. 

Legend of the Wolf and Pine-Apple. — Carlo Magno. — 
Barberousse. — The Untombing of Charlemagne. — Ex- 
hibition of Relics. — Arm-Chair of Charlemagne. — The 
Swiss Guide. — Hotel de Ville, the Birthplace of Charle- 
magne 69 

< 

CHAPTER X. 

COLOGNE. — THE BANKS OF THE RHINE.— ANDERNACH. 

Duez. — Cathedral of Cologne. — The Peasantry. — The 
Strolling Musician. — Personifiers of the Gods Goulu, 
Gluton, Goinfre, and Gouliaf. — Dome of the Cathedral 
of Cologne. — Epitaph. — Tomb of the Three Wise Men 

A* 


X 


Contents 


of the East. — Destiny. — The Hotel de Ville. — The 
Three Bas-Reliefs. — The Epic Poet of Cologne. — 
Cologne at Night. — Time and its Effects . . .88 


CHAPTER XI. 

APROPOS OF THE HOUSE OF “ IBACH.” 

Man's Insignificancy. — The House Ibach. — Marie de Medicis, 
Richelieu, and Louis the Thirteenth .... 103 


CHAPTER XII. 

A FEW WORDS RESPECTING THE WALDRAF MUSEUM. 

Schleis Kotten. — “ Stretching-Out-of-the-Hand System," or. 

Traveling Contingencies. — Recapitulation . . .110 


CHAPTER XIII. 

ANDERNACH. 

A View from Andernach. — Village of Luttersdorf. — Cathe- 
dral. — Its Relics. — Andernach Castle. — Inscription. — 

The Tomb of Hoche. — Gothic Church and Inscription . 118 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE RHINE. 

The Rhine at Evening.— Contrast of the Rhine with other 
Rivers. — The First People who took Possession of the 


Contents. 


xi 


Banks of the Rhine. — Titus and the Twenty-second 
Legion. — Mysterious Populations of the Rhine. — Civil- 
ization. — Pepin-le-Bref, Charlemagne and Napoleon . 124 

CHAPTER XV, 

THE MOUSE. 

Velmich. — Legend of the Priest and the Silver Bell. — Giant’s 
Tomb. — Explanation of the Mouse. — The Solitary In- 
habitant of the Ruin 134 

CHAPTER XVI, 

THE MOUSE. 

Colossal Profile. — The Duchy of M. de Nassau. — Country 

Sports ; their Punishment. — A Mountebank . , . 142 

CHAPTER XVII. 

SAINT GOAR, 

The Cat ; its Interior. — Fabulous Rock of Lurley. — The 
Swiss Valley. — The Fruit Girl. — The Reichenberg. — The 
Barber’s Village. — Legend. — The Rheinfels. — Oberwesel. 

— French Hussar. — A German Supper .... 145 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

BACHARACH. 

Furstemberg, Sonnech, and Heimberg. — Europe. — A Happy 
Little World. — The Cemetery ...... 154 


xii 


Contents. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

“ FIRE ! FIRE ! ” 

Lorch. — An Incident. — Combat of the Hydra and Dragon. 

— The Hotel P at Lorch . * . . . .157 

CHAPTER XX. 

FROM LORCH TO BINGEN. 

Traveling on Foot: Its Advantages and Pleasures. — The 
Strange Recontre. — A Dangerous Spectator. — The Ex- 
plication. — Actors on a Holiday. — Marvelous Facts, and 
their Connection with the “ Holiday of a Menagerie.” 

— Furstemberg Castle. — The Three Brothers, Cadenet, 
Luynes, and Bradnes. — The Three Students. — Sublimity 
of Nature. — Ruin. — The Enigma. — Falkenburg Castle. — 

The Blooming Group. — Stella. — Gantrum and Liba. — 
Mausethurm. — Hatto, and the Legend of the Rats . . 165 

CHAPTER XXI. 

LEGEND OF THE HANDSOME PECOPIN AND THE BEAU- 
TIFUL BAULDOUR. 

The Planet Venus and the Bird Phoenix. — The Difference 
Between the Ear of a Young Man and that of an Old 
One. — The Qualities Essential to Different Embassies. — 

, Happy Effect of a Good Thought. — The Devil is Wrong 
in being a Gourmand. — Amiable Proposition of an Old 
Sage. — The Wandering Christian. — The Danger to 
which we Expose Ourselves by Getting on a Strange 
Horse. — The Return. — Bauldour , , . . . 195 


Contents . xiii 


CHAPTER XXII. 

BINGEN. 

Houses at Bingen. — Paradise Plain. — The Klopp. — Mdlle. 
Bertin. — The Sage 225 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

MAYENCE. 

Cathedral ; its Interior. — Henry Frauenlob, the Tasso of 
Mayence.— ^Market-Place 233 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

FRANKFORT ON THE MAINE. 

Jews at Frankfort. — Slaughter-House. — Roemer. — Inhabit- 
ants of the Steeple 237 

CHAPTER XXV. 

THE RHINE 

Rafts on the Rhine. — Secret Souvenirs. — Oberwerth . ,242 




THE RHINE. 


CHAPTER I. 

FROM PARIS TO FERTE-SOUS-JOUARRE. 

Dammartin : its Literature and Curiosities. — An Accident, and its 
Result. — A German Wagon. — The Pleasures of Country 
Traveling. — The Philosophical Hunchback and Reasoning 
Gendarme. — Meaux and its Curiosities. 

A BOUT two days ago I started from Paris. 

Pursuing my way by the route of Meaux, 
leaving St. Denis and Montmorency on the left, 
I cast my eyes upon the rising ground at the 
bottom of the plain, but a turning in the road 
soon hid it from my sight. On long excursions, 
I have a peculiar penchant for short stages, hate 
to be encumbered with luggage, and love to be 
alone in my carriage with the two friends of my 
boyhood — Virgil and Tacitus. 

As I had traveled by Soissons a few years ago, 
I took the Chalons road, which, owing to innova- 
tors, or, as they style themselves, utilitarians, 
has now but very little interest left. Nanteuil- 
le-Haudoin boasts no longer of the castle built 
by Francis the First ; the magnificent manor of 
the Duke of Valois, at Villiers-Cotterets, has 
1 


2 


The Rhine. 


been converted into a poor-house ; and there, as 
almost everywhere, sculpture and painting — the 
mind of by-gone ages, the grace of the sixteenth 
century — have disappeared. The enormous tower 
of Dammartin, from which Montmartre, nine 
leagues distant, could be distinctly seen, has 
been razed to the ground. Its lizard and vertical 
form gave rise to the proverb, which I could 
never well understand : 

u II est comme le chdteau de Dammartin , qui 
crbve de rire." 1 

Since it has been deprived of its old bastille, in 
which the Bishop of Meaux, when he quarreled 
with the Count of Champagne, took refuge with 
seven of his followers, Dammartin has ceased to 
engender proverbs. It is now only remarkable 
for literary compositions similar to this note, 
which I copied verbatim from a book lying on the 
table of an auberge : 

‘‘Dammartin (Seine - et - Marne) is a small 
town, situated on a hill ; lace is the chief ar- 
ticle of manufacture. Hotel \ Saint e Anne. Cu- 
• riosities: the parish church, hall, 1600 inhabit- 
ants.” 

Tim short space of time which those tyrants of 
diligences, called conducteurs , allow for dinner, 
would not permit me to ascertain if it was true 


1 lie is like Dammartin Castle, bursting with laughter. 


FertJ-sous-Jouarre. 


3 


that the sixteen hundred inhabitants of Dammar- 
tin were really curiosities. 

In the most lovely weather, and on the finest 
road in the world, between Claye and Meaux, the 
wheel of my vehicle broke. (I am one who al- 
ways continues his journey , for, if the carriage re- 
nounce me, I abandon the carriage.) At that in- 
stant a small diligence passed, which was that of 
Touchard. There was only one vacant seat — I 
took it, and in ten minutes after the accident I 
was once more on my route, perched upon the 
imperiale , between a hunchback and a gendarme. 

Behold me now at Ferte-sous-Jouarre, a pretty 
little town with its three bridges, its old mill 
supported by five arches in the middle of the 
river, and its handsome pavilion, of the time of 
Louis the Thirteenth, which, it is said, belonged 
to the Duke of Saint-Simon, and is now in the 
hands of a grocer. 

If, in fact, M. de Saint-Simon did possess that 
old habitation, I very much doubt whether his 
natal mansion of Ferte-Vidame ever had a more 
lordly and stately appearance, or was better 
adapted to his rank of Duke and Peer, than the 
charming little castle of Ferte-sous-Jouarre. 

In traveling, I do not seek for incidents ; my 
desire is fresh scenes, which excite and create 
ideas, and for that new objects suffice. Besides, 
I am content with little. If I see trees, the 


4 


The Rhine. 


greensward, and have the open air, with a road 
before and behind me, I am perfectly satisfied. 
If the country is flat, I like an extended horizon ; 
if it be mountainous, I like the landscapes, and 
here one is ever presenting itself to the view. 
Before me is a charming valley ; to the right and 
left the strange caprices of the soil — huge hills 
bearing the marks of husbandry, and squares, 
pleasing to the sight ) here and there groups of 
low cottages, whose roofs seem to touch the 
gound ; at the end of the valley a long line of 
verdure, with a current of water, which is crossed 
by a little stone bridge, partly dismantled by age, 
that serves to unite the two highways. When I 
was there, a wagon crossed it — an enormous Ger- 
man wagon, swelled, girt, and corded, which had 
the appearance of the belly of Gargantua, drawn 
upon four wheels by eight horses. Before me, 
near the opposite hill, and shining in the rays 
of the sun, the road takes its course, upon which 
the shadows of the tall trees represent, in black, 
a huge comb minus several teeth. 

Ah, well ! the large trees, the shadow of a 
comb, at which, perhaps, you are laughing, the 
wagon, the old bridge, the low cottages — create 
pleasure, and make me happy. A valley such 
as this, with a brilliant sun above, always pleases 
me. I looked around and enjoyed the scene, but 
my fellow- travelers were constantly yawning. 


The Gendarme and the Hunchback. 


5 


When the change of horses takes place, every- 
thing amuses me. After the cracking of the 
whip, the noise of the horses’ hoofs, and the 
jingling of the harness, we stop at the door of 
an auberge. A white hen is seen on the high- 
way — a black one amongst the brambles ; a har- 
row or an old broken wheel in a corner ; and 
children in the height of mirth, with comely, yet 
far from clean faces, playing round a stack of 
hay. Above my head is suspended Charles the 
Fifth, Joseph the Second, or Napoleon — great 
Emperors, who are now no longer fit for any- 
thing but to draw custom to an ale-house ! The 
inn is full of voices : upon the step of the door 
the grooms and the kitchen-maids are cracking 
jokes and composing idyls, while the under- 
strapper is drawing water. Profiting by my high 
position upon the imperiale , I listened to the 
conversation of the hunchback and the gen- 
darme, then admired the little place, with all its 
deformities and beauties. 

Besides, my gendarme and hunchback were 
philosophers. There was no pride in them. 
They chatted familiarly together ; the former, 
without disdaining the hunchback — the latter, 
without despising the gendarme. The hunch- 
back paid a tax of six francs to Jouarre, the an- 
cient Jovis ara, which he explained to the gen- 
darme ; and when he was forced to give a sous to 


6 


The Rhine. 


cross the bridge over the Marne, he became en- 
raged with the Government. The gendarme 
paid no taxes, but related his story with naivety. 
In 1814 he fought like a lion at Montmirail : he 
was then a conscrit. In 1830, in the days of July, 
he took fright, and fled : he was then a gendarme. 
That surprised le bossu> but it did not astonish 
me. Conscrit , he was only twenty years of age, 
poor and brave ; gendarme, he had a wife and 
children, and a horse of his own ; he played the 
coward. The same man, nevertheless, but not 
the same phase in life. Life is a sort of meat, 
which sauce alone renders palatable. No one is 
more dauntless than a galley-slave. In this 
world, it is not the skin that is prized — it is the 
coat. He who has nothing is fearless. 

We must also admit that the two epochs were 
very different. Whatever is in vogue acts upon 
the soldier, as upon all mankind ; for the idea 
which strikes us, either stimulates or discourages. 
In 1830 a revolution broke out — the soldier felt 
himself under a load ; he was cast down in spirits 
by the force of contemplation, which is equal to 
the force of circumstances ; he was fighting by 
the order of a stranger ; fighting for shadows 
created by a disordered brain — the dream of a 
distempered mind — brother against brother — all 
France against the Parisians. In 1814, on the 
contrary, the conscrit struggled with foreign ene- 


Meaux. 


7 


mies, for things easily comprehended — for him- 
self, for his father, his mother, and his sisters — 
for the plow he had just left — for the hut 
which he saw smoking in the distance — for the 
land which he had trod in infancy — for his suffer- 
ing and bleeding country. In 1830 the soldier 
knew not what he was fighting for; in 1814 he 
he did more than know it — he felt it ; he did 
more than feel it — he saw it. 

Three things very much interested me at 
Meaux. To the right, on entering the town, is 
a curious gateway leading to an old church — the 
cathedral ; and behind it an old habitation, half 
fortification and flanked with turrets. There is 
also a court, into which I boldly entered, where I 
perceived an old woman, who was busily knit- 
ting. The good dame heeded me not, thus afford- 
ing me an opportunity of studying a very hand- 
some staircase of stone and wood-work, which, 
supported upon two arches, and crowned by a 
neat landing, led to an old dwelling. I had not 
time to take a sketch, for which I am sorry, as it v 
was the first staircase of the kind I had ever 
seen ; it appeared to me to be of the fifteenth 
century. 

The cathedral is a noble-looking building; its 
erection was begun in the fourteenth century, 
and continued to the fifteenth. Several repairs 
have lately been made, but it is not yet finished, 


8 


The Rhine. 


for, of the two spires projected by the architect, 
one only is completed ; the other, which has been 
begun, is hidden under a covering of slate. The 
middle doorway, and that on the right, are of 
the fourteenth century; the one of the left is of 
the fifteenth. They are all very handsome, though 
time has left its impress upon their venerable ap- 
pearance. I tried to decipher the bas-reliefs. 
The pediment of the left doorway represents the 
history of John the Baptist; but the rays of the 
sun, which fell full on the facade, preventing me 
from satisfying my curiosity. The interior of the 
church is superb: upon the choir are large orgees, 
and at its entry two beautiful altars of the fif- 
teenth century; but unfortunately, in the true 
taste of the peasantry, they are daubed over with 
yellow oil paintings. 

To the left of the choir I saw a very pretty 
marble statue of a warrior of the sixteenth cen- 
tury. It was in a kneeling position, without 
armor, and had no inscription. Opposite is an- 
other; but this one bears an inscription — and 
much it requires it, to be able to discover, in the 
hard and unmeaning marble, the stern counte- 
nance of Benigne Bossuet. I saw his episcopal 
throne, which is of very fine wainscoting, in the 
style of Louis the Fourteenth ; but, being pressed 
for time, I was not able to visit his famed cabinet 
at the Bishop's. 


Pascalus , “ Le Diable .” 


9 


Here is a strange fact. There was a theater at 
Meaux before there was one at Paris, which, as is 
written in a local manuscript, was constructed in 
1547. Pieces of a mysterious nature were rep- 
resented. A man of the name of Pascalus played 
the Devil , and afterwards retained the name. In 
1562 he delivered the city up to the Huguenots; 
and in the year following the Catholics hung 
him, partly because he had delivered up the city, 
but chiefly on account of his appellation, “ Le 
Diable.” At present there are twenty theaters in 
Paris, but there is not a single one here. It is 
said that the good people of Meaux boast of this 
— which is, to be proud that Meaux is not Paris. 

This country abounds with the age of Louis* 
the Fourteenth — here, the Duke of Saint Simon; 
at Meaux, Bossuet ; at La Fert6-Milon, Racine ; 
at Chateau-Thierry, La Fontaine — all within a 
range of twelve miles. The great seigneur is 
neighbor to the great archbishop, and Tragedy is 
elbowing Fable. 

On going out of the cathedral, I found that the 
sun had hid himself, which circumstance enabled 
me to examine the facade. The pediment of the 
central doorway is the most curious: the inferior 
compartment represents Jeanne, wife of Philippe- 
le-Bel, from the deniers of whom the church was 
built after her death. The Queen of France, her 
cathedral in her hand, is represented at the gates 
1* 


10 


The Rhine . 


of Paradise; St. Peter has opened the folding- 
doors to her: behind the Queen is the handsome 
King Philippe, with a sad and rueful counte- 
nance. The Queen, who is gorgeously attired 
and exceedingly well sculptured, points out to St. 
Peter the pauvre diable of a King, and, with a 
side-look and shrug of the shoulder, seems to 
say : — 

“ Bah ! allow him to pass into the bargain." 


Montmirail . 


II 


CHAPTER II. 

MONTMIRAIL. — MONTMORT. — EPERNAY. 

Montmirail Castle. — Vaux Champs. — The Recontre and Re- 
flections Thereupon. — Montmort Castle. — Mademoiselle 
Jeannette. — The Churches and the Curiosities of Epemay. — ■ 
Anecdote of Strozzi and Brisquet. — Henry the Second’s 
Fool. 

I HIRED the first carriage I met at Fert6- 
sous-Jouarre, at the same time asking one 
question — “Are the wheels in good order?” 

On being answered in the affirmative, I set out 
for Montmirail. There is nothing of interest in 
this little town, except a pleasing landscape at 
the end of an avenue, and two beautiful walks 
bordered with trees ; all the buildings, the Chd- 
teau excepted, have a paltry and mean appear- 
ance. 

On Monday, about five o’clock in the evening, 
I left Montmirail, and, directing my way towards 
Epernay, was an hour afterwards at Vaux-Champs. 
A few moments before crossing the far-famed 
field of battle, I met a cart rather strangely laden ; 
it was drawn by a horse and an ass, and con- 
tained pans, kettles, old trunks, straw-bottomed 
chairs, with a heap of old furniture. In front, in 
a sort of basket, were three children, almost in a 


12 


The Rhine. 


state of nudity ; behind, in another, were several 
hens. The driver wore a blouse, was walking, and 
carried a child on his back ; a few steps from him 
was a woman, bearing a child in her arms. They 
were all hastening towards Montmirail, as if the 
great battle of 1814 were on the eve of being 
fought. 

“Yes,” I said to myself, “twenty-five years 
ago, how many poor families were seen flying 
from place to place ! ” 

I was informed, however, that it was not a 
removal — it was an expatriation. It Xvas not to 
Montmirail they were going — it was to America ; 
they were not flying at the sound of the trumpet 
of war — they were hurrying from misery and 
starvation. In a word, my dear friend, it was a 
family of poor Alsacian peasants who were emi- 
grating. They could not obtain a living in their 
native land, but had been promised one in Ohio. 
They were leaving their country, ignorant of the 
sublime and beautiful verses that Virgil had 
written upon them two thousand years ago. 

These poor people were traveling in seeming 
cheerfulness : — the husband was making a thong 
for his whip, the wife was singing, and the child- 
ren playing. The furniture, however, had some- 
thing about it of wretchedness and of disorder 
which caused pain ; the hens even appeared to 
me to feel their sad condition. 


The Emigrants . 


13 


The indifference of the heads of the family- 
astonished me. I really thought that, in leaving 
the country in which we first see light, which 
links our hearts to so many sweet associations, 
we should, on taking a last look, shed a tear to 
the memory of the scenes of our childhood — to 
the land which contained the mouldering ashes 
of our forefathers : but these people seemed re- 
gardless of all this ; their minds were set upon 
the country in which they hoped to obtain a live- 
lihood. 

I looked after them for some time. Where was 
that jolting and tumbling group going? — aye, 
and where am I going? They came to a turn in 
the road, and disappeared; for some time I heard 
the cracking of the whip, and the song of the 
woman — then all was quiet. A few minutes 
afterwards I was in the glorious plains where the 
Emperor had once been. The sun was setting, 
the trees were casting their long shadows, the 
furrows which could be traced here and there 
had a lightish appearance, a bluish mist was at 
the bottom of the ravine, the fields seemed 
deserted ; nothing could be seen but two or three 
plows in the distance, which appeared to the eye 
like huge grasshoppers. To my left was a stone- 
quarry, where there were large millstones, some 
white and new, others old and blackened : here, 
were some lying pell-mell on the ground — there, 


The Rhine . 




a few standing erect, like the men of an enor- 
mous draught-board when upset. 

I determined upon seeing the castle of Mont- 
mort, which was about four leagues from Mont- 
miral ; I took the Epernay road. There are six- 
teen tall elms, perhaps the most beautiful in the 
world, whose foliage hangs over the road and 
rustles above the head of the passenger. In 
traveling, there is no tree pleases me so much as 
the elm ; it alone appears fantastical, and laughs 
at its neighbor, overturning all as it bends its 
head, and making all kinds of grimaces to the 
passers-by in the evening. The foliage of the 
young elm may be said to spring forth when your 
eyes are fixed upon it. From Fertd to the place 
where the sixteen elms are seen, the road is 
bordered only with poplars, aspens, and walnut- 
trees, which circumstance did not at all please 
me. 

The country is flat, the plain extending far 
beyond the range of the eye. Suddenly, on leav- 
a group of trees, we see on the right, half hidden 
in a declivity, a number of turrets, weather-cocks, 
and housetops — it is the castle of Montmort. 

My cabriolet stopped, and I alighted before 
the door of the castle. It is an exquisite fortress 
of the sixteenth century, built of brick, with 
slate-work : it has a double enciente , a moat, a 
three-arched bridge, and a village at its foot : all 


Montmort Castle. 


15 


around is pleasant, and the castle commands a 
most extensive view. It has a winding staircase 
for men, and a rampe for horses. Below, there is 
also an old iron door, which leads to the em- 
brasures of the tower, where I saw four small 
engines of the fifteenth century. The garrison 
of the fortress at present consists of an old ser- 
vant, Mademoiselle Jeannette, who received me 
with the greatest civility. Of the apartments of 
the interior, there only remain a kitchen, a very 
fine vaulted room with a large mantelpiece, the 
great hall (which is now made a billiard-room), 
and a charming little cabinet , with gilt wainscot- 
ing. The great hall is a magnificent chamber: 
the ceiling, with its beams painted, gilded, and 
sculptured, is still entire ; the mantelpiece, sur- 
mounted by two noble-looking statues, is of the 
finest style of Henry the Third. The walls were 
in former times covered with vast squares of 
tapestry, on which were the portraits of the 
family. At the revolution a few daring individ- 
uals of the neighboring village tore down the 
tapestries and burned them, which was a fatal 
blow to feudalism ; the proprietor replaced them 
with old engravings, representing views of Rome 
and of the battles of the great Condd. On leav- 
ing, I gave thirty sous to Mademoiselle Jean- 
nette, who was bewildered with my bounty. 

Night was coming on when I left Montmort. 


1 6 


The Rhine. 


The road is one of the most detestable in the 
world. It leads into a wood which I entered, 
and consequently I saw nothing of Epernay but 
colliers’ huts, the smoke of which was forcing its 
way among the branches of the trees ; the red 
mouth of a distant furnace appeared for a few 
moments, and the whistling wind agitated the 
leaves around. Above my head, in the heavens, 
the splendid chariot was making its voyage in the 
midst of stars, while my poor patache was jogging 
along among pebbles. 

Epernay — yes, it is the town for Champagne ; 
— nothing more, nothing less. 

Three churches have succeeded each other ; 
the first, a Roman church, was built in 1037, by 
Thibaut the First Count of Champagne, and son 
of Eudes ; the second, a church of the Renais- 
sance , was built in 1540, by Pierre Strozzi, Mar- 
shal of France, Seigneur d’Epernay, who was 
killed at the seige of Thionville, in 1558; the 
third, the present one, appeared to me to be 
built from the design of Monsieur Poterlet-Gali- 
chet, a worthy merchant, whose shop and name 
are close to the church. All three are admirably 
described and summed up by these names: 
Thibaut the First, Count of Champagne ; Pierre 
Strozzi, Marshal of France ; and Poterlet-Gali- 
chet, grocer. 

To tell you the truth, the last -mentioned 


Strozzi and Brisquet. 


17 


church is a hideous building, plastered white, 
and has a heavy appearance, with triglyphs sup- 
porting the architrave. There is nothing left of 
the first church ; and of the second, but a few 
large stained windows, and an exquisite facade. 
One of the windows gives the history of Noah 
with great naivete. The window- frames and 
facade are daubed with the hideous plaster of 
the new church. It seemed to me as if I saw 
Odry, with his short white trousers, his blue 
stockings, and his large shirt-collar, carrying the 
casque and cuirass of Francis the First. 

They wished to show me the curiosity of the 
country — a great wine-cellar, which contains one 
hundred thousand bottles. On my way I came 
in sight of a field of turnips, where poppies were 
in flower and butterflies sporting in the rays of 
the sun. I went no further — the great cave 
could well spare my visit. 

I forgot to mention that Thibaut the First was 
interred in his church, and Strozzi in his ; how- 
ever, I should decidedly disapprove of M. Poter- 
let-Galichet having a place in the present one. 

Strozzi was rather what may be termed a brave 
man. Brisquet, the Fool of Henry the Second, 
amusing himself one day, greased, before the 
whole court, a very handsome cloak that the 
marshal had put on for the first time. This 
excited much laughter, and Strozzi resorted to a 


i8 


The Rhine . 


most cruel revenge. For me, I would not have 
laughed, nor would I have avenged myself. To 
bedaub a velvet coat with grease ! — I have never 
been over-delighted with this pleasantry of the 
sixteenth century. 


Varennes. 


19 


CHAPTER III. 

CHALONS. — SAINTE MENEHOULD. — VARENNES. 


The Reverie. — The Arrest of Louis the Sixteenth. — The Saluta- 
tion and its Effects. — Notre Dame at Chalons. — Antiquarian 
Forgetfulness. — The Inscription. — Watchman, Wife, and 
Gnome Son. — Abbey of Notre Dame de l’Epine. — Storm. — 
Metz Hotel. — Sleeping Canary. — Host and Hostess. — Cham- 
pagne and the Signification of Champenois. — Madame Sab- 
li6re and La Fontaine, 

Y ESTERDAY, at the decline of day, while 
my cabriolet was rapidly rolling by Sainte 
Menehould, I was reading these sublime and 
beautiful lines : 

“ Mugitusque bovum mollesque sub arbore somni. 
****** 
Speluncae vivique lacus.” 

For some time, I rested my hand upon my 
book, with a soul full of those vague ideas — sad, 
yet sweet — which the rays of a setting sun gener- 
ally awaken in my mind, when the noise of the 
carriage-wheels on the causeway awoke me from 

my reverie. We were entering a town ; but what 

♦ 

town was it ? The coachman’s reply, “ Varen- 
nes.” We traversed a street which had some- 
thing grave and melancholy in its appearance ; 
the doors and shutters of the houses were closed, 
and grass was growing in the courts. Suddenly, 


20 


The Rhine. 


after having passed an old gateway of the time 
of Louis the Thirteenth, we entered a square, 
surrounded with small white houses, of one story 
high. Louis the Sixteenth, on his flight in 1791, 
was arrested in this square by Drouet, the post- 
master of Sainte Menehould. There was then 
no post at Varennes. I descended from my car- 
riage, and for some time kept looking at this 
little square, which, to the man who does not 
think of past events, has a dull appearance ; but 
to him who does, it has a sinister one. It is re- 
ported here that Louis, when arrested, protested 
so strongly that he was not the King (what 
Charles the First would never have done), that 
the people, half inclined to credit his statement, 
were about to release him, when a Monsieur Eth6, 
who had a secret hatred against the court, ap- 
peared. This person, like a Judas Iscariot, said 
to the King : 

“ Good day, Sire.” 

This was enough. The King was seized. There 
were five of the royal family in the carriage with 
him ; and the miserable, with these words, 
effected their downfall. 

“ Bon jour , Sire ,” was for Louis the Sixteenth, 
for Marie Antoinette, and for Madame Eliza- 
beth, the guillotine ; for the Dauphin, the torture 
of the Temple ; and for Madame Royale, exile 
and the extermination of her race. 


The Grand Monarque. 


21 


Varennes is about fifteen leagues from Rheims 
— that is to say, for my coachman ; to the mind 
there is an abyss — the Revolution. 

I put up for the night at a very ancient- 
looking auberge, which had the portrait of Louis 
Philippe above the door, with the words in- 
scribed : 

“ Au Grand Monarque.” 

During the last hundred years, Louis the Fif- 
teenth, Buonaparte, and Charles the Tenth, had 
each figured in his turn. Louis the Sixteenth 
was, perhaps, arrested at the Grand Monarque , 
and, on looking up, saw the portrait of himself — 
Pauvre Grand Monarque ! 

This morning I took a walk into the town, 
which is very pleasantly situated on the banks 
of a very pretty river. The old houses of the 
high town, seen from the right bank, form a very 
picturesque ampitheater ; but the church, which 
is in the low town, is truly insignificant. It is 
within sight of my inn, and I can see it from the 
table at which I write. The steeple is dated 1 766, 
exactly a year before Madame Royale was born. 

I visited the church ; and if I did not find all I 
expected, I found what I did not expect — that 
is, a very pretty Notre Dame at Chalons. What 
have the antiquaries been thinking of, when, 
speaking of Sainte Etienne, they never breathed 
a word about Notre Dame ? The Notre Dame 


22 


The Rhine. 


of Chalons is a Roman church, with arched roofs, 
and a superb spire bearing the date of the four- 
teenth century. In the middle is a lantern 
crowned with small pinions. A beautiful coup 
d'oeil is afforded here (a pleasure which I en- 
joyed) of the town, the Marne, and the sur- 
rounding hills. The traveler may also admire 
the splendid windows of Notre Dame, and a rich 
portail of the thirteenth century. In 1793 the 
people of this place broke the windows and 
pulled down the statues ; they also destroyed the 
lateral gateway of the cathedral, and all the 
sculpture that was within their reach. Notre 
Dame had four spires, three of which are de- 
molished, testifying the height of stupidity, 
which is nowhere so evident as here. The 
French Revolution was a terrible one ; the revo- 
lution Champenoise was attended with acts of the 
greatest folly. 

On the lantern I found engraved the inscrip- 
tion, apparently in the writing of the sixteenth 
century : 

. “ Le 28 Aout, 1508, la paix a 6t6 publi6e k Chal. . .” 

This inscription, which is partly defaced, and 
which no one has sought to decipher, is all that 
remains of that great political act — the conclu- 
sion of peace between Henry the Third and the 
Huguenots, by the intercession of the Duke of 
Anjou, previously the Duke of Alen^on. The 


Chalons. 


23 


Duke of Anjou was the King’s brother, and had 
an eye upon the Pays Bas, and pretensions to the 
hand of Elizabeth of England ; but the war with 
the religious sects which succeeded thwarted him 
in his plans. The peace, that happy event, pro- 
claimed at Chalons in 1580, was forgotten by the 
whole world on the 22nd of July, 1839. 

The person who conducted me to this lantern 
was the watchman of the town, who passed his 
life in the guette, a little box with four small 
windows. His box and ladder are to him a uni- 
verse ; he is the eye of the town, always open, 
always awake. Perpetual insomnia would be 
somewhat impossible. True, his wife helps him. 
Every night at twelve o’clock he goes to sleep 
and she goes to watch ; at noon they again 
change places — thus performing their rounds at 
each other’s side without coming in contact, 
except for a minute at noon and another at mid- 
night. A little gnome, rather comically shaped, 
whom they call their son, is the result of the 
tangent. 

There are three churches at Chalons: — St. 
Alpin, St. Jean, and St. Loup. 

About two leagues from Chalons, upon the St. 
Menehould road, the magnificent Abbey of Notre 
Dame de l’Epine suddenly presents itself. I re- 
mained upwards of two hours in this church, 
rambling round and round. The wind was blow- 


24 


The Rhine. 


ing strongly. I held my hat with both hands, 
and stood, my eyes filled with dust, admiring the 
beauties of the edifice. 

I continued my route, and after traveling three 
miles came to a village where the inhabitants 
were celebrating, with music and dancing, the 
fete of the place. On leaving, I perceived, on 
the summit of a hill, a mean-looking white house, 
upon the top of which was a telescope, shaped 
like an enormous black insect, corresponding with 
Notre Dame de l’Epine. 

The sun was setting, the twilight approaching, 
and the sky cloudy ; from the plain I looked at 
the hills, which were half covered with heath, 
like a camail d'tveque, and, on turning my head, 
saw a flock of geese that were cackling joyously. 

“We are going to have rain,” the coachman 
said. 

I looked up — the half of the western sky was 
shrouded in an immense black cloud ; the wind 
became boisterous ; the hemlock in flower was 
leveled with the ground ; and the trees seemed 
to speak in a voice of terror. A few moments 
expired — the rain poured down in torrents ; and 
all was darkness, save a beam of light which 
escaped from the declining sun. There was not 
a creature to be heard or seen — neither man 
upon the road, nor bird in the air. Loud peals 
of thunder shook the heavens, and brilliant 


Kitchen at Metz . 


25 


flashes of lightning contrasted wildly with the 
prevailing darkness. 

A blast of wind at length dispersed the clouds 
towards the east, and the sky became pure and 
calm. 

On arriving at Sainte Menehould the stars 
were shining brightly. This is a picturesque 
little town, with its houses built at random upon 
the summit of a green hill, and surmounted by 
tall trees. I saw one thing worthy of remark at 
Sainte Menehould— that is, the kitchen at the 
hotel of Metz. It may well be termed a kitchen : 
one of the walls is covered with pans, the other 
with crockery ; in the middle, opposite the win- 
dow, is a splendid fire and an enormous chim- 
ney ; all kinds of baskets and lamps hang from 
the ceiling ; by the chimney are the jacks, spits, 
pot-hangers, kettles, and pans of all forms and 
sizes ; the shining hearth reflects light in all 
corners of the room, throwing a rosy hue on the 
crockery, causing the edifice of copper to shine 
like a wall of brass, while the ceiling is crowded 
with fantastic shadows. If I were a Homer or a 
Rabelais, I would say : 

“ That kitchen is a world, and the fireplace is 
its sun.” 

It is indeed a world — a republic — consisting of 
men, women and children ; male and female ser- 
vants, scullions, and waiters ; frying-pans over 


2 


26 


The Rhine . 


chafing dishes, bounded by pots and kettles ; 
children playing, cats and dogs mewing and 
barking, with the master overlooking all ; — mens 
agit at molem. In a corner is a clock, which 
gravely warns the occupants that time is ever on 
the wing. 

Among the innumerable things which hung 
from the ceiling, there was one that interested 
me more than all the others — a small cage, in 
which a canary was sleeping. The poor creature 
seemed to me to be a most admirable emblem of 
confidence ; notwithstanding the unwholesome- 
ness of the den, the furnace, the frightful kitchen, 
which is day and night filled with uproar, the 
bird sleeps. A noise, indeed, is made around it 
— the men swear, the women quarrel, the chil- 
dren cry, the dogs bark, the cats mew, the clock 
strikes, the water-cock spouts, the bottles burst, 
the diligences pass under the arched roof, making 
a noise like thunder — yet the eyelid of the feath- 
ered inhabitants move not. 

Apropos , I must declare that people generally 
speak too harshly of inns, and I myself have often 
been the first to do so. An auberge, take it all in 
all, is a very good thing, and we are often very 
glad to find one. Besides, I have often remarked 
that there is almost in all auberges an agreeable 
landlady ; as for the host, let turbulent travelers 
have him — give me the hostess. The former is 


Clermont. 


2 7 


a being of a morose and disagreeable nature, the 
latter cheerful and amiable. Poor woman ! some- 
times she is old, sometimes in bad health, and 
very often exceedingly bulky. She comes and 
goes ; is here and there — this moment at the 
heels of the servants, the next one chasing the 
dogs ; she compliments the travelers, frowns at 
the head servant; smiles to one, scolds another; 
stirs the fire; takes up this and sends away that; 
in fact, she is the soul of that great body called 
an auberge , the host being fit for nothing but 
drinking in a corner with wagoners. The fair 
hostess of La Ville de Metz, at St. Menehould, is 
a young woman about sixteen years of age, is 
exceedingly active, and she conducts her house- 
hold affairs with the greatest regularity and pre- 
cision. The host, her father, is an exception to 
the general run of inn-keepers, being a very in- 
telligent and worthy man ; in all, this is an ex- 
cellent auberge. 

I left St. Menehould, and pursued my way to 
Clermont. The road between those two towns 
is charming; on both sides is a forest of trees, 
whose green leaves glitter in the sun, and cast 
their detached and irregular shadows on the high- 
way. The villages have something about them 
of a Swiss and German appearance — white stone 
houses, with large slate roofs projecting three or 
four feet from the wall. I felt that I was in the 


28 


The Rhine. 


neighborhood of mountains: the Ardennes, in 
fact, are here. 

Before arriving at Clermont we pass an ad- 
mirable valley, where the Marne and the Meuse 
meet. The road is betwixt two hills, and is so 
steep that we see nothing before us but an abyss 
of foliage. 

Clermont is a very handsome village, headed 
by a church, and surrounded with verdure. 

I find that I have made use of the word 
Champenois , which, by some proverbial accepta- 
tion, is somewhat ironical ; you must not mis- 
take the sense which I affix to it. The proverb 
— more familiar, perhaps, than it is applicable — 
speaks of Champagne as Madame la Sabli^re 
spoke of La Fontaine — “That he was a man of 
stupid genius,” — which expression is applied to 
a genius of Champagne. That, however, neither 
prevents La Fontaine from being an admirable 
poet, nor Champagne from being a noble and 
illustrious country. Virgil might have spokbn 
of it, as he did of Italy — 

“ Alma parens frugum, 

Alma virum.” 

Champagne is the birthplace, the country of 
Amyot — that bonhomme who took up the theme 
of Plutarch, as La Fontaine did that of JEsop ; 
of Thibaut the Fourth, who boasted of nothing 
more than being the father of Saint Louis; of 


Champagne. 


29 


Charlier de Gerson, who was chancellor of the 
university of Paris; of Amadis, Jamyn, Colbert, 
Diderot ; of two painters, Lantare and Valentin ; 
of two sculptors, Girardon and Bouchardon ; of 
two historians, Flodoard and Mabillon ; of two 
cardinals full of genius, Henry de Lorraine and 
Paul de Gondi : of two popes full • of virtue, 
Martin the Fourth and Urban the Fourth; of a 
king full of glory, Philippe-Auguste. 

Champagne is a powerful province, and there 
is no town or village in it that has not something 
remarkable. Rheims, which owns the cathedral 
of cathedrals, was the place where Clovis was 
baptized. It was at Andelot that the interview 
between Gontran King of Bourgogne, and Childe- 
bert King of Austrasie, took place. Hinemar 
took refuge at Epernay, Abailard at Provim, 
Hdloise at Paraclet. The Gordiens triumphed 
at Langres, and in the middle age its citizens 
destroyed the seven formidable castles — Chagney, 
Saint Broing, Neuilly Cotton, Cobons, Bourg, 
Humes, and Pailly. The league was concluded 
at Joinville in 1584; Henry the Fourth was pro- 
tected at Chalons in 1591 ; the Prince of Orange 
was killed at Saint Dizier; Sezenne is the ancient 
place of arms of the Dukes of Bourgogne ; Ligny 
PAbbaye was founded in the domains of Seigneur 
Chatillon, by Saint Bernard, who promised the 
seigneur as many perches of land in heaven as 


30 


The Rhine . 


the sire had given him upon earth. Mouzon is 
the fief of the Abbot of Saint Hubert, who sends 
six coursing dogs, and the same number of birds 
of prey, every year to the King of France. 

Champagne retains the empreinte of our ancient 
kings— Charles the Simple for the sirerie at 
Attigny; Saint Louis and Louis the Fourteenth, 
the devout king and the great king, first lifted 
arms in Champagne; the former in 1228, when 
raising the siege of Troyes — the latter in 1652, at 
Sainte Menehould. 

The ancient annals of Champagne are not less 
glorious than the modern. The country is full 
of sweet souvenirs — Merov6e and the Francs, 
Actius, and the Romans, Theodoric and the Visi- 
goths, Mount Jules and the tomb of Jovinus. 
Antiquity here lives, speaks, and cries out to the 
traveller, “ Sta, viator ! ” 

From the days of the Romans to the present 
day, the town of Champagne, surrounded at times 
by the Alains, the Su&ves, the Vandals, and the 
Germans, would have been burnt to the ground, 
rather than have been given over to the enemy. 
They are built upon rocks, and have taken for 
their device “ Donee moveantur .” 

In 451 the Huns were destroyed in the plains 
of Champagne; in 1814, if God had willed it, the 
Russians would also have met the same fate. 

Never speak of this province but with respect. 


Champagne. 


31 


How many of its children have been sacrificed 
for France! In 1813 the population of one dis- 
trict of Marne consisted of 311,000. In 1830 it 
had only 309,000; showing that fifteen years of 
peace had not repaired the loss. 

But, to the explanation : When any one applies 
the word hete to Champagne, change the mean- 
ing: it signifies naif, simple, rude, primitive, and 
redoubtable in need. A bete may be a lion, or an 
eagle. It is what Champagne was in 1814. 


32 


The Rhine. 


CHAPTER IV. 

FROM VILLERS-COTTERETS TO LA FRONTIERE. 

The Effects of Traveling. — The Retrograde Movement. — Reflec- 
tion. — The Secret of Stars. — The Inscription “ I. C.” — The 
Cathedral whei-e King Pepin was Crowned. — The Prisoner’s 
sad Rencontre. — Rheims. — Church at Mezieres. — The Effects 
of a Bomb. — Sedan and its Contents. — The Transpiring 
Events at Turenne’s Birth. — Conversation of a Sir John Fal- 
staff and his Better Half. 

I ARRIVED at Givet at four o’clock in the 
morning, bruised by the jolting of a fright- 
fnl vehicle, which the people here call a dili- 
gence. I stretched myself, dressed as I was, 
upon a bed, fell asleep, and awoke two hours 
afterwards. On opening the window of my 
chamber, with the idea of enjoying the view 
which it might afford, the only objects which 
caught my attention were the angle of a little 
white cottage, a water-spout, and the wheel of a 
cart. As for my room, it is an immense hall, 
ornamented with no less than four beds. 

A trifling incident, not worth relating, caused 
me to make a retrograde movement from Va- 
rennes to Villers-Cotterets ; and the day before 
yesterday, in order to make up for lost time, I 
took the diligence for Soissons. There was no 


Soissons. 


33 


passenger but myself, a circumstance which was 
in no way disconcerting, as it gave me an oppor- 
tunity of turning over at my ease the pages of 
some of my favorite authors. 

As I approached Soissons, day was fast fading, 
and night had cast its sombre aspect over that 
beautiful valley where the road, after passing the 
the hamlet of La Felie, gradually descends, and 
leads to the cathedral of Saint-Jean-des-Vignes. 
Notwithstanding the fog which rose around, I 
perceived the walls and roofs of the houses of 
Soissons, with a half-moon peering from behind 
them. I alighted, and, with a heart fully ac- 
knowledging the sublimity of nature, gazed upon 
the imposing scene. A grasshopper was chirping 
in the neighboring field ; the trees by the road- 
side were softly rustling ; and I saw, with the 
mind’s eye, Peace hovering over the plain, now 
solitary and tranquil, where Caesar had con- 
quered, Clovis had exercised his authority, and 
where Napoleon had all but fallen. It shows 
that men — even Caesar, Clovis, and Napoleon — 
are only passing shadows ; and that war is a 
fantasy which terminates with them ; whilst God 
— and Nature, which comes from God — and 
Peace, which comes from Nature — are things of 
eternity. 

Determined on taking the Sedan mail, which 
does not arrive at Soissons till midnight, I allowed 

2* 


34 


The Rhine . 


the diligence to proceed, knowing that I had 
plenty of time before me. The trajet which 
separated me from Soissons was only a charming 
promenade. When a short distance from the 
town, I sat down near a very pretty little house, 
upon which the forge of a blacksmith shed a 
faint light. I looked upwards : the heavens were 
serene and beautiful; and the planets — Jupiter, 
Mars, and Saturn — were shining in the south- 
east. The first, whose course for three months 
is somewhat complicated, was between the other 
two, and was forming a perfectly straight line. 
More to the east was Mars, fiery in his appear- 
ance, and imitating the starry constellation by 
a kind of flamboiement farouche. A little above, 
shining softly, and with a white and peaceful ap- 
pearance, was that monster-planet — the frightful 
and mysterious world — which we call Saturn. On 
the other side, at the extremity of the view, a 
magnificent beacon reflected its light on the 
sombre hills which separate Noyon from Soisson- 
nais. As I was asking myself the utility of such 
a light in these immense plains, I saw it leaving 
the border of the hills, bounding through the 
fog, and mounting near the zenith. That beacon 
was Aldebaran, the three-colored sun, the enor- 
mous purple, silvery, and blue star, which rises 
majestically in the waste of the crepuscule. 

O what a secret there is in these stars ! The 


The Heavenly Bodies . 


35 


poetical, the thinking, and the imaginative, have, 
in turn, contemplated, studied, and admired them : 
some, like Zoroaster, in bewilderment — others, 
like Pythagoras, with inexpressible awe. Seth 
named the stars, as Adam did animals. The 
Chaldeans and the Genethliaques, Esdras and 
Zorobabel, Orpheus and Homer, Pherecide, 
Xenophon, Hecataeus, Herodotus, and Thucydi- 
des — all eyes of the earth, so long shut, so long 
deprived of light — have been fixed from one age 
to another on those orbs of heaven which are 
always open, always lighted up, always living. The 
same planets, the same stars, that fix our atten- 
tion to-night, have been gazed at by all these 
men. Job speaks of Orion and of the Pleiades; 
Plato listened and distinctly heard the vague 
music of the spheres ; Pliny thought that the sun 
was God, and that the spots on the moon were 
the exhalations of the earth. The poets of 
Tartary named the pole senisticol, which means 
an iron nail ; Rocoles says, “That the lion ^ might 
as well have been called the ape Pacuvius 
would not credit astrologers, under the idea that 
they would be equal to Jupiter: 

“ Nam si qui, quae eventura sunt, praevideant, 
yEquiparent Jovi.” 

Favorinus asked himself this question : — “Si vitas 
mortisque hominum rerumque numanarum omni- 


3 ^ 


The Rhine. 


um et ratio et causa in ccelo et apud Stellas 
foretf ” Aulus-Gellius, sailing from Egine to 
Piree, sat all night upon the poop, contemplating 
the stars. “ Nox fuit clemens mare, et anni cestas 
coelumque liquide serenum ; sedebamns ergo in 
puppi simul universi et lucentia sidera consider- 
abamusT Horace himself — that practical phi- 
losopher — the Voltaire of the age of Augustus — 
greater poet, it is true, than the Voltaire of Louis 
the Fifteenth — shuddered when looking at the 
stars, and wrote these terrible lir\es : — 

“ Hunc solem, et stellas et decedentia certis, 
Temporamomentis sunt qui formidine nulla 
Imbuti spectant.” 

As for me, I do not fear the stars— I love them : 
still, I have never reflected without a certain con- 
viction that the normal position of the heavens 
is night; and what we call “day,” arises from the 
appearance of a bright illuminary. 

We cannot always be looking at immensity; 
ecstasy is akin to prayer; the latter breathes 
consolation, but the former fatigues and ener- 
vates. On taking mine eyes from above, I cast 
them upon the wall facing me ; and even there 
subject was afforded for meditation and thought. 
On it were traces, almost entirely effaced, of an 
ancient inscription. I could only make out I. C. 
Without doubt, they referred either to Pagan or 
Christian Rome— to the city of strength, or to 


Saint-Jean-des- Vignes. 


3 7 


that of faith. I remained — my eyes fixed upon 
the stone, which seemed to become animate — 
lost in vain hypotheses. When I. C. were first 
known to men, they governed the world ; the 
second time, they enlightened it — Julius Caesar 
and Jesus Christ. 

Dante, on putting Brutus the murderer, and 
Judas the traitor, together in the lowest ex- 
tremity of hell, and causing them to be devoured 
by Satan, must have been influenced by a similar 
thought to that which engrossed my whole atten- 
tion. 

Three cities are now added to Soissons — the 
Noviodunum of the Gauls, the Augusta Suesson- 
ium of the Romans, and the old Soissons of 
Clovis, of Charles the Simple, and of the Duke 
of Mayenne. Nothing now remains of Suesson- 
ium but a few ruins ; among others, the ancient 
temple, which has been converted into the chapel 
of Saint Pierre. Old Soissohs is more fortunate, 
for it still possesses Saint-Jean-des-Vignes, its 
ancient castle, and the cathedral where Pepin 
was crowned in 752. 

It was very dark when I entered Soissons ; 
therefore, instead of looking for Noviodonum or 
Suessonium, I regaled myself with a tolerably 
good supper. Being refreshed, I went out and 
wandered about the gigantic silhouette of Saint- 
Jean-des-Vignes, and it was twelve o’clock before 


33 


The Rhine . 


I returned to the auberge , when silence and dark- 
ness prevailed. 

Suddenly, however, a noise broke upon my 
ear; it was the arrival of the mail-coach, which 
stopped a few paces from the inn. There was 
only one vacant place, which I took; and was on 
the point of installing myself, when a strange up- 
roar — cries of women, noise of wheels, and tramp- 
ling of hordes — broke out in a dark narrow street 
adjoining. Although the driver stated that he 
would leave in five minutes, I hurried to the 
spot ; and on entering the little street, saw, at 
the base of a huge wall, which, had the odious 
and chilling aspect peculiar to prisons, a low 
arched door, that was open. A few paces farther 
on, a mournful-looking vehicle, stationed be- 
tween two gendarmes on horseback, was half hid 
in the obscurity; and near the wicket four or five 
men were struggling and endeavoring to force a 
woman, who was screaming fearfully, into the 
carriage. The dim light of a lantern, which was 
carried by an old man, cast a lugubrious glare 
upon the scene. The female, a robust country- 
woman about thirty years of age, was fiercely 
struggling with the men — striking, scratching, 
and shrieking; and when the lamp shone upon 
the wild countenance and disheveled hair of the 
poor creature, it disclosed, melancholy to behold, 
a striking picture of despair. She a't last seized 


The Prisoners. 


39 


one of the iron bars of the wicket ; but the men, 
with a violent effort, forced her from it, and 
carried her to the cart. This vehicle, upon which 
the lantern was then shining, had no windows, 
small holes drilled in front supplied their place. 
There was a door at the back part, which was 
shut, and guarded by large bolts of iron. When 
opened, the interior of the carriole disclosed a 
sort of box, without light, almost without air. 
It was divided into oblong compartments by a 
thick board, the one having no communication 
with the other, and the door shutting both at the 
same time. One of the cells, that to the left, was 
empty, but the right one was occupied. In the 
angle, squatted like a wild beast, was a man — if 
a kind of spectre, with a broad face, a flat head, 
large temples, grizzled hair, short legs, and 
dressed in a pair of old, torn trousers and tat- 
tered coat, may be called one. The legs of the 
wretched man were closely chained together ; a 
shoe was on his right foot, while his left, which 
was enveloped in linen stained with blood, was 
partly exposed to view. This creature, hideous 
to the sight, who was eating a piece of black 
bread, paid no attention to what was going on 
around him ; nor did he look up to see the 
wretched companion that was brought him. The 
poor woman was still struggling with the men, 
who were endeavoring to thrust her into the 


40 


The Rhine . 


empty cell, and was crying out, “ No, I shall not ! 
Never — never ! — kill me sooner — never! ” 

In one of her convulsions she cast her eyes 
into the vehicle, and on perceiving the prisoner 
she suddenly ceased crying, her legs trembled, 
her whole frame shook, and she exclaimed, with 
a stifled voice, but with an expression of anguish 
that I shall never forget : 

“ Oh, that man ! ” 

The prisoner looked at her with a confused yet 
ferocious air. I could resist no longer. It was 
clear that she had committed some serious crime 
• — perhaps robbery, perhaps worse ; that the gen- 
darmes were transporting her from one place to 
another in one of those odious vehicles meta- 
phorically called by the gamins of Paris “ paniers 
h salade ; ” but she was a woman, and I thought 
it my duty to interfere. I called to the galley- 
sergeant, but he paid no attention to me. A 
worthy gendarme, however, stepped forward, and, 
proud of his little authority, demanded my pass- 
port. Unfortunately I had just locked up that' 
essentiel in my trunk, and, whilst entering into 
explanations, the jailers made a powerful effort, 
plunged the woman half-dead into the cart, shut 
the door, pushed the bolts, and when I turned 
round all had left, and nothing was heard but the 
rattling of the wheels and the trampling of the 
escort. 


Mezilres. 


4i 


A few minutes afterwards I was comfort- 
ably seated in a carriage drawn by four excellent 
horses. I thought of the wretched woman, and 
I contrasted, with an aching heart, my situation 
with hers. In the midst of such thoughts I fell 
asleep. 

When I awoke, morning was breaking; we were 
in a beautiful valley — that of Braine-sur-Vesle. 
Venus was shining above our heads, and its rays 
cast a serenity and an inexpressible melancholy 
upon the fields and woods — it was a celestial eye, 
which opened upon this sleeping and lovely 
country. 

From Rheims to Bethel there is nothing inter- 
esting, and the latter place affords little worthy 
of remark. 

On arriving at Mezi&res I anxiously looked on 
all sides for the ruins of the ancient castle of 
Hellebarde, but could not perceive them. The 
church of Mezi&res is of the fifteenth century, 
and has, to the right and left of the choir, two 
bas-reliefs of the time of Charles the Eighth. 
On the north of the apside I perceived an inscrip- 
tion upon the wall, which testified that Mezi&res 
was cruelly assailed and bombarded by the Prus- 
sians in 1815 ; and above it these words: — 

“ Lector leva oculos ad fornicem et vide quasi 
quoddam divines manus indicium .” 

I raised my eyes and saw a large rent in the 


42 


The Rhine. 


vault above my head, and in it an enormous 
bomb, which, after having pierced the roof of 
the church, the timber-work, and the masonry, 
was thus stopped, as if by miracle, when about 
to fall upon the pavement. Twenty-five years 
have now expired, and still it remains in the 
same position. That bomb, and that wide rent 
which is above the head of the visitor, produce a 
very strange effect, which is heightened upon 
reflecting that the first bomb made use of in war 
was at Mezi&res, in the year 1521. On the other 
side of the church another inscription informs us 
that the nuptials of Charles the Ninth with Eliz 
abeth of Austria were happily celebrated in this 
church, on the 17th November, 1570, two years 
before St. Bartholomew. The grand portail is 
of this epoch, and, consequently, noble in ap- 
pearance, and of a refined taste. 

As for Mezi&res — there are some very tall trees 
upon its ramparts; the streets are clean, and 
remarkable for their dullness ; there is nothing 
about the town that reminds us of Hellebarde 
and Garinus, the founders ; Balthazar, who ran- 
sacked it; Count Hugo, who ennobled it; or of 
Folques and Adalberon, who besieged it. 

It was near noon when I arrived at Sedan, and, 
instead of seeing monuments and edifices, I saw 
what the town contains — pretty women, hand- 
some carabiniers , cannons, and trees and prairies 


Stdan. 


43 


along the Meuse. I tried to find some vestiges 
of M. de Turenne, but did not succeed. The 
pavilion where he was born is demolished, but a 
black stone, with the following inscription, sup- 
plies its place : 

“ Ici naquit Turenne 

LE II SEPTEMBRE MDCXI ” 

The date, which is in prominent gold letters, 
struck me, and my mind reverted to that event- 
ful period. In 1611 Sully retired; Henry the 
Fourth was assassinated the preceding year ; 
Louis the Thirteenth, who ought to have died 
as his father did, on the 14th of May, was 
then ten years old ; Richelieu was in his twenty- 
sixth year ; the good people of Rouen called a 
man Petit Pierre , who was afterwards named 
by the universe le Grand Corneille ; Shakspeare 
and Cervantes were living, so were Branthome 
and Pierre Mathieu. In 161 1 Papirien Masson and 
Jean Bussde breathed their last ; Gustave Adolphe 
succeeded the visionary monarch Charles the 
Ninth of Sweden ; Philip the Third, in spite of 
the advice of the Duke of Osunna, drove the 
Moors from Spain ; and the German astronomer, 
Jean Fabricius, discovered the spots on the sun. 
Such are the events that were transpiring in 
the world when Turenne was born. Sedan has 
not been a pious guardian of his memory, nor, in 
fact, has it in its annals any souvenirs of William 


44 


The Rhine 


de la March, the Boar of Ardennes, the frightful 
predecessor of Turenne. 

After having made a good breakfast in the 
Hotel de la Croix d’Or, I decided on returning 
on foot to Mezi£res, and to take the coach for 
Givet. The distance is five leagues, but the 
road is truly picturesque, running along the 
valley of the Meuse. About a league from 
S6dan we meet Douchery, with its old wooden 
bridge and fine trees ; villages, with smiling 
urchins, chatelets, shrouded in massive verdure, 
where sheep and oxen are grazing in the sun. 

I arrived at Mezi&res at seven in the evening, 
and at eight, seated in a miserable coupt, between 
a Sir John Falstaff and a female who might well 
have passed for his better half, set out for Givet. 
The two gros etres began to converse, and spoke 
of events as striking as they were stirring — such 
as, “ that it is now twenty-two years since I was 
at Rocroy,” — “ that M. Crochard, the secretary 
of the under-prefecture, is his intimate friend,” — 
“ that, as it is twelve at night, the good Mons. 
Crochard must be in bed.” 

Day dawned. We approached a drawbridge, 
which was lowered, and shortly afterwards we 
entered into a narrow street, that led into a 
court, where servants came running with candles 
in their hands, and grooms with lanterns. I 
was at Givet. 


Flemish Architecture . 


45 


CHAPTER V. 


GIVET. 


Flemish Architects. — Little Givet. — The Inscription. — Jose 
Gutierez. — The Peasant Girl. 



HIS is an exceedingly pretty town, situ 


1 ated on the Meuse, which separates Great 
from Little Givet, and is headed by a ridge of 
rocks, at the summit of which is the fort of 
Charlemont. The auberge , called the Hotel of 
the Golden Mount, is very comfortable ; and 
travelers may find refreshments there, which, 
though not the most exquisite, are palatable to 
the hungry, and a bed, though not the softest in 
the world, highly acceptable to the weary. 

The steeple of Little Givet is of simple con- 
struction ; that of Great Givet is more compli- 
cated — more recherche. The worthy architect, in 
planning the latter, had, without doubt, recourse 
to the following mode: — He took a priest’s 
square cap, on which he placed bottom upwards, 
a large plate ; above this plate a sugar-loaf 
headed with a bottle, a steel spike thrust into its 
neck ; and on the spike he perched a cock, the 
purport of which was to inform its beholders the 
way that the wind blew. Supposing that he took 


4 6 


The Rhin, 


a day to each idea, he therefore must have rested 
the seventh. This artist was certainly Flemish. 

About two centuries ago Flemish architects 
imagined that nothing could exceed in beauty 
gigantic pieces of slate, resembling kitchen-ware, 
— so, when they had a steeple to build, they 
profited by the occasion, and decked their towns 
with a host of colossal plates. 

Nevertheless, a view of Givet still has charms, 
especially if taken towards evening from the 
middle of the bridge. When I viewed it, night, 
which helps to screen the foolish acts of man, 
had begun to cast its mantle over the contour of 
this singularly-built steeple; smoke was hovering 
about the roofs of the houses ; at my left, the 
elms were softly rustling; to my right, an ancient 
tower was reflected on the bosom of the Meuse ; 
further on, at the foot of the redoubtable rock 
of Charlemont, I descried, like a white line, a 
long edifice, which I found to be nothing more 
than an uninhabited country house ; above the 
town, the towers, and steeples, an immense ridge 
of rocks hid the horizon from my sight ; and in 
the distance, in a clear sky, the half-moon ap- 
peared with so much purity — with so much of 
heaven in it — that I imagined that God had ex- 
posed to our view part of his nuptial ring to 
testify his wedded affection to man. 

Next day I determined to visit the venerable 


Jose Gutierez . 


47 


turret which crowned, in seeming respect, little 
Givet. The road is steep, and commands the 
services of both hands and feet. After some in- 
considerable trouble, and no slight labor of all- 
fours, I reached the foot of the tower, which is 
fast falling into ruin, where I found a huge door 
secured by a large padlock. I knocked and 
shouted, but no one answered, so I was obliged 
to descend without gratifying my curiosity. My 
pains, however, were not altogether lost, for, on 
passing the old edifice, I discovered among the 
rubbish, which is daily crumbling into dust and 
falling into the stream, a large stone, on which 
were the vestiges of an inscription. I examined 
them attentively, but could only make out the 
following letters : 

“ LOQVE . . . SA . L . OMBRE 

Paras . . . modi . sl . 

ACAV . P . . . SOTROS.” 

Above these letters, which seem to have been 
scratched with a nail, the signature, “ IOSE 
GviTEREZ, *643,” remained entire. 

Inscriptions, from boyhood, always interested 
me ; and I assure you, this one opened up a vein 
of thought and inquiry. What did this inscrip- 
tion signify? — in what language was it written? 
By making some allowance for orthography, one 
might imagine that it was French; but, on con- 
sidering that the words para and otros were 


48 


The Rhine . 


Spanish, I concluded that it must have been 
written in Castilian. After some reflection, I 
imagined that these were the original words : — 

“ Lo QUE EMPESA EL HOMBRE 

Para simismo dios le 

ACAVA PARA LOS OTROS.” 

— “What man begins for himself, God finishes 
for others.” 

But who was this Gutierez? The stone had 
evidently been taken from the interior of the 
tower. It was in 1643 that the battle of Rocroy 
was fought. Was Jose Gutierez, then, one of the 
vanquished? had he, to while away the long and 
tiresome days, written on the walls of the dun- 
geon, the melancholy risumt of his life, and of 
that of all mankind — 

“ Ce que Vhomme commence pour lui y Dieu 
V achive pour les autre s ? ” 

At five o’clock next morning, alone, and com- 
fortably seated on the banquette of the diligence 
Van Gend, I left la France by the route of 
Namur. We proceeded by the only chain of 
mountains of which Belgium can boast ; for the 
Meuse, by continuing to flow in opposition to 
the abaissement of the plateau of Ardennes, suc- 
ceeded in forming a plain which is now called 
Flanders — a plain to which nature has refused 
mountains for its protection, but which man has 
studded with fortresses. 


The Peasa t Girl. 


49 


After an ascension of half an hour, the horses 
became fatigued, the conducteur thirsty, and they 
(I might say we), with one accord stopped before 
a small wine-shop, in a poor but picturesque 
village, built on the two sides of a ravine cut* 
through the mountains. This ravine, which is at 
one time the bed of a torrent, and at another the 
leading street of the village, is paved with the 
granite of the surrounding mountains. When 
we were passing, six harnessed horses proceeded, 
or rather climbed, along that strange and fright- 
fully steep street, drawing after them a large 
empty vehicle with four wheels. If it* had been 
laden, I am pursuaded that it would have re- 
quired twenty horses to have drawn it. I can in 
no way account for the use of such carriages in 
this ravine, if they are not meant to serve as 
sketches for young Dutch painters, whom we met 
here and there upon the road — a bag upon their 
back, and a stick in their hand. 

What can a person do on the outside of a coach 
but gaze at all that comes within his view? I 
could not be better situated for such a purpose. 
Before me was the greater portion of the valley 
of the Meuse ; to the south were the two Givets, 
graciously linked by their bridge ; to the west 
was the tower of Egmont, half in ruins, which 
was casting behind it an immense shadow; to the 
north were the sombre trenches into which the 


3 


50 


The Rhine. 


Meuse was emptying itself, whence a light blue 
vapor arose. On turning my head, my eyes fell 
upon a handsome peasant-girl, who was sitting 
by the open window of a cottage, dressing her- 
self; and above the hut of the paysanne , but 
almost close to view, were the formidable bat- 
teries of Charlemont, which crowned the frontiers 
of France. 

Whilst I was contemplating this coup doeil , the 
peasant-girl lifted her eyes, and on perceiving 
me, she smiled; saluted me graciously; then, 
without shutting the window or appearing dis- 
concerted, she continued her toilette. 


Liege. 


5i 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE BANKS OF THE MEUSE — DINANT — NAMUR. 

The Lesse. — A Flemish Garden. — The Mannequin. — The Tomb- 
stone. — Athletic Demoiselles. — Signboards and their utility. 

I HAVE arrived at Liege. The route from 
Givet, following the course of the Meuse, is 
highly picturesque; and it strikes me as singular 
that so little has been said of the banks of this 
river, for they are truly beautiful and romantic. 

After passing the cabin of the peasant-girl, the 
road is full of windings, and during a walk of 
three-quarters of an hour we are in a thick forest, 
interspersed with ravines and torrents. Then 
a long plain intervenes, at the extremity of 
which is a frightful yawning — a tremendous 
precipice, upwards of three hundred feet in 
depth. At the foot of the precipice, amidst 
the brambles which bordered it, the Meuse 
is seen meandering peacefully, and on its 
banks is a chatelet resembling a patisserie mani- 
or time-piece, of the days of Louis the 
Fifteenth, with its decorated walls, and its Lilli- 
putian and fantastical garden. Nothing is more 
singularly striking and more ridiculous than this 
— the petty work of man, surrounded by Nature 
in all her sublimity. One is apt to say that it is a 


52 


The Rhine. 


shocking demonstration of the bad taste of man, 
brought into contrast with the sublime poetry of 
God. 

After the gulf, the plain begins again, for the 
ravine of the M,euse divides it as the rut of a 
wheel cuts the ground. 

About a quarter of a league further on, the 
road becomes very steep, and leads abruptly to 
the river. The declivity here is charming. 
Vine -branches encircle the hawthorn, which 
crowd both sides of the road. The Meuse at 
this point is straight, green in appearance, and 
runs to the left between two banks thickly 
studded with trees. A bridge is next seen, then 
another river, smaller yet equally beautiful, 
which empties itself into the Meuse. It is the 
Lesse ; three leagues from which, in a cavity on 
the right, is the famed grotto of Hansur Lesse. 

On turning the road, a huge pyramidal rock, 
sharpened like the spire of a cathedral, suddenly 
appears. The conducteur told me that it was the 
Roche a Bazard. The road passes between the 
mountain and this colossal borne , then turns 
again, and at the foot of an enormous block of 
granite, crowned with a citadel, a church, and a 
long street of old houses meet the eye. It is 
Dinant. 

We stopped here about a quarter of an hour, 
and observed a little garden in the diligence- 


Valley of the Meuse. 


53 


yard, which is sufficient to warn the traveler that 
he is in Flanders. The flowers in it are very 
pretty: in the midst are two painted statues, 
the one represents a woman, or rather a man- 
nequin, for it is clothed in an Indian gown, with 
an old silk bonnet. On approaching, an indis- 
tinct noise strikes the ear and a strange spurting 
of water is perceived. We then discovered that 
this female is a fountain. 

After leaving Dinant, the valley extends, and 
the Meuse gradually widens. On the right hand 
of the river, the ruins of two ancient castles pre- 
sent themselves ; the rocks are now only to be 
seen here and there under a rich covering of 
verdure ; and a housse of green velours , bordered 
with flowers, covers the face of the country. 

On this side are hop-fields, orchards, and trees 
burdened with fruit ; on that, the laden vine is 
ever appearing, amongst whose leaves the feath- 
ery tribe are joyously reveling. Here the cack- 
ling of ducks is heard, there the chuckling of 
liens. Young girls, their arms naked to the 
shoulder, are seen jocosely walking along, with 
laden baskets on their heads; and from time to 
time a village churchyard meets the eye, con- 
trasting strangely with the neighboring road — so 
full of joy, of beauty, and of life. 

In one of those churchyards, whose dilapidated 
walls leave exposed to view tall grass, green and 


54 


The Rhine. 


blooming, mocking, as it were, the once vain 
mortal that moulders beneath, I read on a tomb- 
stone the following inscription — 

“ O PIE, DEFUNCTIS MISERIS SUCCURRE, VIATOR ? ” 

No memento had ever such an effect upon me 
as this one. Ordinarily, the dead warn — there, 
they supplicate. 

After passing a hill, where the rocks, sculp- 
tured by the rain, resembled the half-worn and 
blackened stones of the old fountain of Luxem- 
bourg, we begin to perceive our approximation 
to Namur. Gentlemen’s country seats begin to 
mix with the abodes of peasants, and the villa is 
no sooner passed than we come to a village. 

The diligence stopped at one of these places, 
where I had, on one side, a garden well orna- 
mented with colonnades and Ionic temples ; on 
the other, a cabaret , at the door of which a num- 
ber of men and women were drinking; and to 
the right, upon a pedestal of white marble, 
veined by the shadows of the branches, a Venus 
de Medicis, half hid among leaves, as if ashamed 
to be seen in her nudid state by a group of 
peasants. 

A few steps further on, were two or three 
good-looking, athletic wenches, perched upon a 
plum-tree of considerable height ; one of them 
in a rather delicate attitude, but perfectly re- 


Namur. 


55 


gardless of and unregarded by the peasants 
underneath. 

About an hour afterwards we arrived at Na- 
mur, which is situated near the junction of the 
Sombre and the Meuse. The women are pretty, 
and the men are handsome, and they have some- 
thing pleasing and affable in their cast of coun- 
tenance. As to the town itself, there is nothing 
remarkable in it ; nor has it anything in its gen- 
eral appearance which speaks of its antiquity. 
There are no monuments, no architecture, no 
edifices worthy of notice; in fact, Namur can 
boast of nothing but mean-looking churches and 
fountains, of the mauvais gout of Louis XV. 
The town is crowned, gloomily and sadly, by the 
citadel. However, I must say that I looked upon 
these fortifications with a feeling of respect, for 
they had once the honor of being attacked by 
Vauban and defended by Cohorn. 


5 6 


The Rhine . 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE BANKS OF THE MEUSE — HUY — LIEGE. 

A Chapel of the Tenth Century. — Iron Works of Mr. Cockerill ; 
their singular appearance. — St. Paul’s at Liege. — Palace of 
the Ecclesiastical Princes of Liege. — Significant decorations 
of a room at Liege. 

O N leaving Namur we entered a magnificent 
avenue of trees, whose foliage serves to 
hide from our view the town, with its mean and 
uncouth steeples, which, seen at a distance, have 
a grotesque and singular appearance. After pass- 
ing those fine trees, the fresh breeze from the 
Meuse reaches us, and the road begins to wend 
cheerfully along the river side. The Meuse 
widens by the junction of the Sombre, the 
valley extends, and the double walls of rocks 
reappear, resembling now and then, Cyclop 
fortresses, great dungeons in ruins, and vast 
Titaniques towers. 

The rocks of the Meuse contain a great quan- 
tity of iron. When viewed in the landscape, 
they are of a beautiful color ; but broken, they 
change into that odious greyish-blue which 
pervades all Belgium. That which is magnificent 
in mountains loses the grandeur, when broken 
and converted into houses 


Sanson — Huy. 


57 


“ It is God who forms the rocks ; man is the 
builder of habitations.” 

We passed hastily through a little village 
called Sanson, near which stand the ruins of a 
castle, built, it is said, in the days of' Clodion. 
The rocks at this place represent the face of a 
man, to which the conducteur never fails to direct 
the attention of the traveler. We then came to 
the Ardennes, where I observed — what would be 
highly appreciated by antiquaries — a little rustic 
church, still entire, of the tenth century. In an- 
other village (I think it is Sclayen) is seen the 
following inscription, in large characters, above 
the principal door of the church : — 

“ LES CHIENS HORS DE LA MAISON DE DIEU.” 

If I were the worthy curate, I should deem it 
more important for men to enter, than dogs to 
go out. 

After passing the Ardennes, the mountains 
become scattered, and the Meuse, no longer run- 
ning by the roadside, crosses among prairies. 
The country is still beautiful, but the cheminte de 
Vusine — that sad obelisk of our civilisation Indus - 
trielle — too often strikes the eye. The road again 
joins the river: we perceive vast fortifications, 
like eagles’ nests, perched upon rocks ; a fine 
church of the fourteenth century; and an old 
bridge with seven arches. We are at Huy. 

3 * 


58 


The Rhine. 


Huy and Dinant are the prettiest towns upon 
the Meuse; the former about half way between 
Namur and Liege, the latter half way between 
Namur and Givet. Huy, which is at present a 
redoubtable citadel, was in former times a warlike 
commune , and held out with valor a siege with 
Liege, as Dinant did with Namur. In those 
heroic times, cities, as kingdoms now, were 
always declaring war against each other. 

After leaving Huy, we from time to time see 
on the banks of the river a zinc manufactory, 
which, from its blackened aspect with smoke es- 
caping through the creviced roofs, appears to us 
as if a fire were breaking out, or like a house 
after a fire has been nearly extinguished. By the 
side of a bean field, in the perfume of a little 
garden, a brick house with a slate turret, the vine 
clinging to its walls, doves on the roof, and cages 
at the windows, strikes the eye — we then think 
of Teniers and Mieris. 

The shades of evening approached — the wind 
ceased blowing, the trees rustling — and nothing 
was heard but the rippling of the water. The 
lights in the adjacent houses burnt dimly, and all 
objects were becoming obscured. The passen- 
gers yawned, and said, “ We shall be at Liege in 
an hour.” At this moment a singular sight sud- 
denly presented itself. At the foot of the hills, 
which were scarcely perceptible, two round balls 


The Furnaces. 


59 


of fire glared like the eyes of tigers. By the 
roadside was a frightful dark chimney stalk, sur- 
mounted by a huge flame, which cast a sombre 
hue upon the adjoining rocks, forests, and ravines. 
Nearer the entry of the valley, hidden in the 
shade, was a mouth of live coal, which suddenly 
opened and shut, and, in the midst of frightful 
noises, spouted forth a tongue of fire. It was the 
lighting of the furnaces. 

After passing the place called Little Flemalle, 
the sight was inexpressible — was truly magnifi- 
cent. All the valley seemed to be in a state of 
conflagration — smoke issuing from this place, and 
flames arising from that ; in fact, we could im- 
agine that a hostile army had ransacked the 
country, and that twenty districts presented, in 
that night of darkness, all the aspects and phases 
of a conflagration — some catching fire, some en- 
veloped in smoke, and others surrounded with 
flames. 

This aspect of war is caused by peace — this 
frightful symbol of devastation is the effect of 
industry. The furnaces of the iron works of Mr. 
Cockerill, where cannon is cast of the largest 
calibre, and steam engines of the highest power 
are made, alone meet the eye. 

A wild and violent noise comes from this chaos 
of industry. I had the curiosity to approach one 
of these frightful places, and I could not help 


6o 


The Rhine. 


admiring the assiduity of the workmen. It was 
a prodigious spectacle, to which the solemnity of 
the hour lent a supernatural aspect. Wheels, 
saws, boilers, cylinders, scales — all those mon- 
strous implements that are called machines, and 
to which steam gives a frightful and noisy life — 
rattle, grind, shriek, hiss ; and at times, when the 
blackened workmen thrust the hot iron into 
the water, a moaning sound is heard like that 
of hydras and dragons tormented in hell by 
demons. 


Liege is one of those old towns which are in 
a fair way of becoming new — deplorable trans- 
formation ! one of those towns where things of 
antiquity are disappearing, leaving in their places 
white facades, enriched with painted statues ; 
where the good old buildings, with slated roofs, 
skylight windows, chiming bells, belfries, and 
weathercocks, are falling into decay, while gazed 
at with horror by some thick-headed citizen, who 
is busy with a Constitutionnel , reading what he 
does not understand, yet pompous with the sup- 
posed knowledge which he has attained. The 
Octroi , a Greek temple, represents a castle flanked 
with towers, and thick set with pikes ; and the 
long stalks of the furnaces supply the place of 
the elegant steeples of the churches. The an- 


Liege. 


6 1 


cient city was, perhaps, noisy ; the modern one 
is productive of smoke. 

Liege has no longer the enormous cathedral of 
the princestveques, built by the illustrious Bishop 
Notger in the year 1000, and demolished in 1795 
by — no one can tell whom ; but it can boast of 
the iron works of Mr. Cockerill. 

Neither has it any longer the convent of Do- 
minicans — sombre cloister of high fame ! noble 
edifice of fine architecture ! but there is a theater 
exactly on the same spot, decorated with pillars 
and brass capitals, where operas are performed. 

Liege, in the nineteenth century, is what it was 
in the sixteenth. It vies with France in imple- 
ments of war; with Versailles, in extravagance 
of arms. But the old city of Saint Hubert, with 
its church and fortress, its ecclesiastical and mili- 
tary commune , has ceased to be a city of prayer 
and of war; it is one of buying and selling — an 
immense hive of industry. It has been trans- 
formed into a rich commercial center; and has 
put one of its arms in France, the other in Hol- 
land, and is incessantly taking from the one and 
receiving from the other. 

Everything has been changed in this city ; 
even its etymology has not escaped. The ancient 
stream Legia bears now the appellation of Ri- 
de-Coq Fontaine. 

Notwithstanding, we must admit that Liege is 


62 


The Rhine. 


advantageously situated near the green brow of 
the mountain of Sainte Walburge ; is divided by 
the Meuse into the lower and upper towns; is 
interspersed with thirteen bridges, some of which 
have rather an architectural appearance ; and is 
surrounded with trees, hills, and prairies. It has 
turrets, clocks, and portes-donjons , like that of 
Saint Martin and Amerrcoeur, to excite the poet 
or the antiquary, even though he be startled with 
the noise, the smoke, and the flames of the manu- 
factories around. 

As it rained heavily, I only visited four 
churches : — Saint Paul’s, the actuelle cathedral, 
is a noble building of the fifteenth century, 
having a Gothic cloister, with a charming porta il 
of the Renaissance, and surmounted by a belfry, 
which, had it not been that some inapt architect 
of our day spoiled all the angles, would be con- 
sidered elegant. Saint Jean is a grave facade of 
the sixteenth century, consisting of a large 
square steeple, with a smaller one on each side. 
Saint Hubert is rather a superior-looking build- 
ing, whose lower galleries are of an excellent 
ordre. Saint Denis, a curious church of the 
tenth century, with a large steeple of the 
eleventh. That steeple bears traces of having 
been injured by fire. It was probably burnt 
during the Norman outbreak. The Roman archi- 
tecture has been ingeniously repaired, and the 


Liege. 


63 


steeple finished in brick. This is perfectly dis- 
cernible, and has a most singular effect. 

As I was going from Saint Denis to Saint 
Hubert by a labyrinth of old narrow streets, 
ornamented here and there with madones , I sud- 
denly came within view of a large dark stone 
wall, and on close observation discovered that 
the back facade indicated that it was a palace of 
the middle age. An obscure door presented it- 
self ; I entered, and at the expiration of a few 
moments found myself in a vast yard, which 
turned out to be that of the palace of the Eccle- 
siastic Princes of Liege. The ensemble of the 
architecture is, perhaps, the most gloomy and 
noble-looking that I ever saw. 

There are four lofty granite facades, sur- 
mounted by four prodigious slate roofs, with the 
same number of galleries. Two of the facades, 
which are perfectly entire, present the admirable 
adjustment of ogives and arches which character- 
ized the end of the fifteenth century and the 
beginning of the sixteenth. The windows of 
this clerical palace have meneaux like those of a 
church. Unfortunately the two other facades, 
which were destroyed by fire in 1734, have been 
rebuilt in the pitiful style of that epoch, and tend 
to detract from the general effect. It is now 105 
years since the last bishop occupied this fine 
structure. 


6 4 


TJie Rhine. 


The quadruple gallery that walls the yard is 
admirably preserved. There is nothing more 
pleasing to study than the pillars upon which the 
ogives are placed : they are of gray granite, like 
the rest of the palace. Whilst examining the four 
rows, one half of the shaft of the pillar disap- 
pears, sometimes at the top, then at the bottom, 
under a rich swelling of arabesques. The swelling 
is doubled in the west range of the pillars, and 
the stalk disappears entirely. This speaks only 
of the Flemish caprice of the sixteenth century ; 
but what perplexes us is, that the chapiters of 
these pillars, decorated with heads, foliage, 
apocalyptical figures, dragons, and hieroglyphics, 
seem to belong to the architecture of the 
eleventh century; and it must be remembered 
that the palace of Liege was commenced in 1508, 
by Prince Erard de la Mark, who reigned thirty- 
two years. 

This grave edifice is at present a court of 
justice; booksellers, and toy-merchants’ shops 
are under all the arches, and vegetable stalls in 
the courtyard. The black robes of the law prac- 
titioners are seen in the midst of baskets of red 
and green cabbages. Groups of Flemish mer- 
chants, some merry, others morose, make fun 
and quarrel before each pillar; irritated pleaders 
appear from all the windows ; and in that sombre 
yard, formerly solitary and tranquil as a convent, 


Liege. 


65 


of which it has the appearance, the untired 
tongue of the advocate mingles with the chatter, 
the noise, and bavardage of the buyers and 
sellers. 

My room at Liege was ornamented with muslin 
curtains, upon which were embroidered — not 
nosegays, but melons. There were also several 
pictures, representing the triumph of the Allies 
and our disasters in 1814. Behold the legende 
printed at the bottom of one of these paint- 
ings: — 

“Battle of Arcis-sur-Aube, 21st March, 1814 
The greater portion of the garrison of this place 
composed of the garde ancienne , were taken 
prisoners, and the Allies, on the 22nd of April, 
triumphantly entered Paris.” 


66 


The Rhine . 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE BANKS OF THE VESDRE. — VERVIERS. 


Railways. — Miners at Work. — Louis the Fourteenth. 



ESTERDAY morning, as the diligence was 


X about to leave Liege for Aix-la-Chapelle, 
a worthy citizen annoyed the passengers by re- 
fusing to take the seat upon the imperiale which 
the conductor pointed out as his. For the sake 
of peace I offered him mine ; which the conde- 
scending traveler, without evincing any reluc- 
tance, or even thanking me, accepted, and the 
heavy vehicle forthwith rolled tardily along. I 
was pleased with the change. The road, though 
no longer by the banks of the Meuse, but by 
those of the Vesdre, is exceedingly beautiful. 

The Vesdre is rapid, and runs through Verviers 
and Chauffontaines, along the most charming 
.valley in the world. In August, especially if the 
day be fine, with a blue sky over head, we have 
either a ravine or a garden, and certainly always 
a paradise. From the road the river is ever in 
sight. It at one time passes through a pleasing 
village, at another it skirts an old castle with 
square turrets ; there the country suddenly 


Valley of the Vesdre. 


67 


changes its aspect, and, on turning by a hillside, 
the eye discovers, through an opening in a thick 
tuft of trees, a low house, with a huge wheel by 
i s side. It is a water-mill. 

Between Chauffontaines and Verviers the val- 
ley is full of charms, and, the weather being pro- 
pitious, added much to enliven the scene. Mar- 
mosets were playing upon the garden steps ; the 
breeze was shaking the leaves of the tall poplars, 
and sounded like the music of peace, the har- 
mony of nature ; handsome heifers, in groups of 
three and four, were reposing on the greensward, 
shaded by leafy blinds from the rays of the sun ; 
then, far from all houses, and alone, a fine cow, 
worthy of the regard of Argus, was peacefully 
grazing. The soft notes of a flute floating on 
the breeze were distinctly heard. 

“ Mercurius septem mulcet arundinibus .” 

The railway — that colossale entreprise, which 
runs from Anvers to Liege, and is being ex- 
tended to Verviers — is cut through the solid 
rock, and runs along the valley. Here we meet 
a bridge, there a viaduct ; and at times we see in 
the distance, at the foot of an immense rock, a 
group of dark objects, resembling a hillock of 
ants, busily blasting the solid granite. 

These ants, small though they be, perform the 
work of giants. 


68 


The Rhine. 


When the fissure is wide and deep, a strange 
sound proceeds from the interior ; in fact, one 
might imagine that the rock is making known its 
grievances by the mouth which man has made. 

Verviers is an insignificant little town, divided 
.into three quartiers , called Chick-Chack, Brasse- 
Crotte, and Dardanelle. In passing, I observed 
a little urchin, about six years of age, who, 
seated on a door-step, was smoking his pipe, 
with all the magisterial air of a Grand Turk. 
The marmot fumier looked into my face, and 
burst into a fit of laughter, which made me con- 
clude that my appearance was to him rather 
ridiculous. 

After Verviers, the road skirts the Vesdre as 
far as Simbourg: Simbourg — that town of counts, 
that patt which Louis the Fourteenth found had 
a crust rather hard for mastication — is at present 
a dismantled fortress. 


Attractions of Aix-la-Chapelle . 69 


CHAPTER IX. 


AIX-LA-CHAPELLE— THE TOMB OF CHARLEMAGNE. 

Legend of the Wolf and Pine-Apple. — Carlo-Magno. — Barber- 
ousse. — The Untombing of Charlemagne. — Exhibition of 
Relics. — Arm-chair of Charlemage. — The Swiss Guide. — 
Hotel-de-Ville, the Birthplace of Charlemagne. 



OR an invalid, Aix-la-Chapelle is a mineral 


X fountain — warm, cold, irony, and sulphur- 
ous ; for the tourist, it is a place for redoubts and 
concerts ; for the pilgrim, the place of relics, 
where the gown of the Virgin Mary, the blood 
of Jesus, the cloth which enveloped the head of 
John the Baptist after his decapitation, are ex- 
hibited every seven years ; for the antiquarian, it 
is a noble abbey of files a abbesse , connected 
with the male convent, which was built by Saint 
Gregory, son of Nicephore, Emperor of the East ; 
for the hunter, it is the ancient valley of the 
wild boars ; for the merchant, it is -a fabrique* of 
cloth, needles, and pins ; and for him who is no 
merchant, manufacturer, hunter, antiquary, pil- 
grim, tourist, or invalid, it is the city of Charle- 
magne. 

Charlemagne was born at Aix-la-Chapelle, and 
died there. He was born in the old place, of 
which there now only remains the tower, and he 


7 ° 


The Rhine. 


was buried in the church that he founded in 796, 
two years after the death of his wife Frastrada. 
Leon the Third consecrated it in 804, and 
tradition says that two bishops of Tongres, who 
were buried at Maestricht, arose from their 
graves, in order to. complete, at that ceremony, 
365 bishops and archbishops — representing the 
days of the year. 

This historical and legendary church, from 
which the town has taken its name, has under- 
gone, during the last thousand years, many 
transformations. 

No sooner had I entered Aix than I went to 
the chapel. 

The portail, built of grey-blue granite, is of 
the time of Louis the Fifteenth, with doors of 
the eighth century. To the right of the portail , 
a large bronze ball, like a pine-apple, is placed 
upon a granite pillar; and on the opposite side, 
on another pillar, is a wolf, of the same metal, 
which is half turned towards the bystanders, its 
mouth half open and its teeth displayed. This 
is the legend of the wolf and pine-apple, daily 
recited by the old women of the place to the in- 
quiring traveler : — 

“A long time ago, the good people of Aix-la- 
Chapelle wished to build a church : money was 
put aside for the purpose; the foundation was 
laid, the walls were built, and the timber work 


The Wolf and the Pine-Apple. 


7 1 


was commenced. For six months there was 
nothing heard but a deafening noise of saws, 
hammers, and axes; but at the expiration of 
that period the money ran short. A call was 
made upon the pilgrims for assistance, and a 
plate was placed at the door of the church, but 
scarcely a Hard was collected. What was to be 
done? The senate assembled, and proposed, 
argued, advised, and consulted. The workmen 
refused to continue their labor. The grass, the 
brambles, the ivy, and all the other insolent 
weeds which surround ruins, clang to the new 
stones of the abandoned edifice. Was there no 
other alternative than that of discontinuing the 
church ? The glorious senate of burgomasters 
were in a state of consternation. 

“ One day, in the midst of their discussions, a 
strange man, of tall stature and respectable ap- 
pearance, entered. 

“ ‘ Good day, gentlemen. What is the subject 
of discussion? You seem bewildered. Ah, I 
suppose your church weighs heavy at your 
hearts. You do not know how to finish it. 
People say that money is the chief requisite for 
its completion.’ 

“ ‘ Stranger, said one of the senate, ‘ allez 
vous en av. diable ? It would take a million of 
money.’ 

“ ‘ There is a million,’ said the unknown, open- 


72 


The Rhine. 


ing the window, and pointing to a chariot drawn 
by oxen, and guarded by twenty negroes armed 
to the teeth. 

“ One of the burgomasters went with the 
stranger to the carriage, took the first sack that 
came to his hand, then both returned. It was laid 
before the senate, and found to be full of gold. 

“ The bourgomestres looked with eyes ex- 
pressive both of foolishness and surprise, and 
demanded of the stranger who he was. 

“ ‘ My dear fellows, I am the man who has 
money at command. What more do you require? 
I inhabit the Black Forest, near the lake of 
Wildsde, and not far from the ruins of Heiden- 
stadt, the city of Pagans. I possess mines of 
gold and silver, and at night I handle millions of 
precious stones. But I have strange fancies — in 
fact, I am unhappy, a melancholy being, passing 
my days in gazing into the transparent lake, 
watching the tourniquet and the water tritons, 
and observing the growth of the polygonum am- 
phibium among the rocks. But a truce to ques- 
tions and idle stories. I have opened my heart 
—profit by it! There is your million of money. 
Will you accept it? ’ 

1 Par dieu, oui, } said the senate. ! We shall 
finish our church.’ 

“‘Well, it is yours,’ the stranger said; ‘but 
remember, there is a condition.’ 


The Wolf and the Pine-Apple. 


73 


“ ‘What is it?’ 

“ ‘ Finish your church, gentlemen — take all 
this precious metal ; but promise me, in ex- 
change, the first soul that enters into the church 
on the day of its consecration.’ 

“ ‘You are the devil !’ cried the senate. 

“ ‘ You are imbeciles ,’ replied Urian. 

“ The burgomasters began to cross themselves, 
to turn pale, and tremble ; but Urian, who was a 
queer fellow, shook the bag containing the gold, 
laughed till he almost split his sides, and, soon 
gaining the confidence of the worthy gentlemen, 
a negotiation took place. The devil is a clever 
fellow — that is the reason that he is a devil. 

“ ‘ After all,” he said, “ I am the one who shall 
lose by the bargain. You shall have your million 
and your church : as for me, I shall only have a 
soul.’ 

“‘Whose soul, Sir?’ demanded the frightened 
senate. 

“ ‘ The first that comes — that, perhaps, of some 
canting hypocrite, who to appear devout, and to 
show his zeal in the cause, will enter first. But, 
my friends, your church promises well. The 
plan pleases me ; and the edifice, in my opinion, 
will be' superb. I see with pleasure that your 
architect prefers the trompe-sous-le-coin to that of 
Montpellier. I do not dislike the arched vault, 
but still I would have preferred a ridged one. I 

4 


74 


The Rhine. 


acknowledge that he has made the doorway very 
tastefully : but I am not sure if he has been care- 
ful about the thickness of the parpain . What is 
the name of your architect? Tell him from me, . 
that, to make a door well, there must be four 
panels. Nevertheless, the church is of a very 
good style, and well adjusted. It would be a pity 
to leave off what has been so well begun. You 
must finish your church. Come, my friends; the 
million for you — the soul for me. Is it not so?’ 

“ ‘ After all,’ thought the citizens, ‘ we ought 
to be satisfied that he contents himself with one 
soul. He might, if he observed attentively, find 
that there is scarcely one in the whole place that 
does not belong to him.’ 

“The bargain was concluded — the million was 
locked up — Urian disappeared in a blue flame — 
and two years afterwards the church was fin- 
ished. 

“You must know that all the senators took an 
oath to keep the transaction a profound secret ; 
and it must also be understood that each of them 
on the very same evening related the affair to 
his wife. When the church was complete, the 
whole town — thanks to the wives of the senators 
— knew the secret of the senate; and no one 
would enter the church. This was an embarrass- 
ment greater even than the first : the church was 
erected, but no one would enter; it was finished, 


The Wolf and the Pine-Apple. 


75 


but it was empty. What good was a church of 
this description ? 

“The senate assembled, but they could do 
nothing; and they called upon the Bishop of 
Tongres, but he was equally puzzled. The 
canons of the church were consulted ; but to no 
avail. At last the monks were brought in. 

“ 1 Pardieu ! ' said one of them; ‘you seem to 
stand on trifles; you owe Urian the first soul 
that passes the door of the church ; but he did 
not stipulate as to the kind of soul. I assure 
you this Urian is at the best an ass. Gen- 
tlemen, after a severe struggle, a wolf was taken 
alive in the valley of Borcette. Make it enter 
the church. Urian must be contented; he shall 
have a soul, although only that of a wolf.’ 

“ ‘ Bravo ! bravo ! ’ shouted the senate. 

“At the dawn of the following day the bells 
rang. 

“‘What!’ cried the inhabitants — ‘to-day is 
the consecration of the church, but who will dare 
to enter first ?’ 

“I won’t!’ shouted one. ‘Nor I!’ — ‘Nor I!’ 
escaped from the lips of the others. 

“ At last the senate and the chapitre arrived, 
followed by men carrying the wolf in a cage. A 
signal was given to open the door of the church 
and that of the cage simultaneously; the wolf, 
half mad from fright, rushed into the empty 


76 


The Rhine. 


church, where Urian was waiting, his mouth 
open, and his eyes shut. Judge of his rage when 
he discovered that he had swallowed a wolf. 
He shouted tremendously, flew for some time 
under the high arches, making a noise like a 
tempest, and, on going out, gave the door a 
furious kick, and rent it from top to bottom.” 

It is upon that account, say the old dames, 
that a statue of the wolf has been placed on the 
left side of the church, and an apple, which rep- 
resents its poor soul, on the right. 

I must add, before finishing the legend, that I 
looked for the rent made by the heel of the devil, 
but could not find it. 

On approaching the chapel of the great portail 
the effect is not striking ; the facade displays the 
different styles of architecture — Roman, Gothic, 
and modern, — without order, and consequently, 
without grandeur ; but if, on the contrary, we 
arrive at the chapel by Chevet, the result is 
otherwise. The high ahside of the fourteenth 
century, in all its boldness and beauty, the rich 
workmanship of its balustrades, the variety of 
its gargouilles , the sombre hue of the stones, and 
the large, transparent windows : — strike the be- 
holder with admiration. 

Here, nevertheless, the aspect of the church 
— imposing though it is — will be found far from 
uniform. Between the abside and the portail , *n 


Tomb of Charlemagne . 


77 


a kind of cavity, the dome of Otho III., built 
over the tomb of Charlemagne in the tenth 
century, is hid from view. After a few moments’ 
contemplation, a singular awe comes over us 
when gazing at this extraordinary edifice — an 
edifice which, like the great work that Charle- 
magne began, remains unfinished ; and which, 
like his empire that spoke all languages, is com- 
posed of architecture that represents all styles. 
To the reflective, there is a strange analogy be- 
tween that wonderful man and this great build- 
ing. 

After having passed the arched roof of the 
portico, and left behind me the antique bronze 
doors surmounted with lions’ heads, a white 
rotundo of two stories, in which all the fantaisies 
of architecture are displayed, attracted my atten- 
tion. At casting my eyes upon the ground, I 
perceived a large block of black marble, with the 
following inscription in brass letters: — 

“Carolo Magno.” 

Nothing is more contemptible than to see, ex- 
posed to view, the bastard graces that surround 
this great Carlovingian name ; angels resembling 
distorted Cupids, palm-branches like colored 
feathers, garlands of flowers, and knots of rib- 
bons, are placed under the dome of Otho III., 
and upon the tomb of Charlemagne. 


73 


The Rhine. 


The only thing here that evinces respect to 
the shade of that great man is an immense lamp, 
twelve feet in diameter, with forty-eight burners: 
which was presented, in the twelfth century, by 
Barberousse. It is of brass, gilt with gold, has 
the form of a crown, and is suspended from the 
ceiling above the marble stone by an iron chain 
about seventy feet in length. 

It is evident that some other monument had 
been erected to Charlemagne. There is nothing 
to convince us that this marble, bordered with 
brass, is of antiquity. As to the letters, “CAROLO 
Magno,” they are not of a later date than 1730. 

Charlemagne is no longer under this stone. 
In 1166 Frederick Barberousse — whose gift, mag- 
nificent though it was, does by no means com- 
pensate for this sacrilege — caused the remains of 
that great emperor to be untombed. The Church 
claimed the imperial skeleton, and, separating 
the bones, made each a holy relic. In the adjoin- 
ing sacristy, a vicar shows the people — for three 
francs seventy-five centimes — the fixed price — 
the arm of Charlemagne — that arm which held 
for a time the reins of the world. Venerable 
relic! which has the following inscription, written 
by some scribe of the twelfth century : 

‘ Brachium Sancti Caroli Magni.” 

After that I saw the skull of Charlemagne, 


Relics of Charlemagne. 


79 


that cranium which may be said to have been 
the mould of Europe, and which a beadle had 
the effrontery to strike with his finger. 

All are kept in a wooden armory, with a few 
angels, similar to those I have just mentioned, on 
the top. Such is the tomb of the man whose 
memory has outlived ten ages, and who, by his 
greatness, has shed the rays of immortality 
around his name. Sanctus , magnus , belong to 
him — two of the most august epithets which this 
earth could bestow upon a human being. 

There is qne thing astonishing — that is, the 
largeness of the skull and arm. Charlemagne 
was, in fact, colossal with respect to size of body 
as well as extraordinary mental endowments. 
The son of Pepin-le-Bref was in body, as in mind, 
gigantic ; of great corporeal strength, and of 
astounding intellect. 

An inspection of this armory has a strange 
effect upon the antiquary. Besides the skull and 
arm, it contains the heart of Charlemagne ; the 
cross which the emperor had round his neck in 
his tomb ; a handsome ostensoir, of the Renais- 
sance, given by Charles the Fifth, and spoiled, in 
the last century, by tasteless ornaments ; fourteen 
richly sculptured gold plates, which once orna- 
mented the arm-chair of the emperor; an 
ostensoir , given Philippe the Second ; the cord 
which bound our Saviour; the sponge that was 


8o 


The Rhine. 


used upon the cross; the girdle of the Holy 
Virgin, and that of the Redeemer. 

In the midst of innumerable ornaments, heaped 
up in the armory like mountains of gold and 
precious stones, are two shrines of singular 
beauty. One, the oldest, which is seldom opened, 
contains the remaining bones of Charlemagne, 
and the other, of the twelfth century, which 
Frederick Barberousse gave to the church, holds 
the relics, which are exhibited every seven years. 
A single exhibition of this shrine, in 1696, at- 
tracted 42,000 pilgrims, and drew, in ten days, 
80,000 florins. 

This shrine has only one key, which is in two 
pieces ; the one is in the possession of the 
chapitre, the other in that of the magistrates of 
the town. Sometimes it is opened on extra- 
ordinary occasions, such as on the visit of a 
monarch. 

In a small armory, adjoining the one men- 
tioned, I saw an exact imitation of the Germanic 
crown of Charlemagne. That which he wore as 
Emperor of Germany is at Vienna; the one as 
King of France, at Rheims ; and the other, as 
King of Lombardy, is at Menza, near Milan. 

On going out of the sacristy, the beadle gave 
orders to one of the menials, a Swiss, to show me 
the interior of the chapel. The first object that 
fixed my attention was the pulpit, presented by 


Tomb of Charlemagne . 


81 


the Emperor Henry the Second, which is ex- 
travagantly ornamented and gilt, in the style of 
the eleventh century. To the right of the altar, 
the heart of M. Antoine Berdolet, the first and 
last Bishop of Aux-la-Chapelle, is encased. That i 
church had but one Bishop — he whom Buona- 
parte named “ Primus Aquisgranensis Episcopus 
In a dark room in the chapel, my conductor 
opened another armory, which contained the sar- 
cophagus of Charlemagne. It is a magnificent 
coffin of white marble, upon which the carrying 
off of Proserpine is sculptured. The fair girl is 
represented as making desperate efforts to disen- 
tangle herself from the grasp of Pluto, but the 
god has seized her half-naked neck, and is forcing 
her head against Minerva. Some of the nymphs, 
the attendants of Proserpine, are in eager combat 
with Furies, while others are endeavoring to 
stop the car, which is drawn by two dragons. A 
goddess has boldly seized one of them by the 
wing, and the animal, to all appearance, is crying 
hideously. This bas-relief is a poem, powerful 
and startling — like the pictures of Pagan Rome, 
and like some of those of Rubens. 

The tomb, before it became the sarcophagus 
of Charlemagne, was, it is said, that of Augustus. 

After mounting a narrow staircase, my guide 
conducted me to a gallery which is called the 
Hochmunster. In this place is the arm-chair of 
4 * 


82 


The Rhine. 


Charlemagne. It is low, exceedingly wide, with 
a round back ; is formed of four pieces of white 
marble, without ornaments or sculpture, and has 
for a seat an oak board, covered with a cushion 
of red velvet. There are six steps up to it, two 
of which arc of granite, the others of marble. 
On this chair sat — a crown upon his head, a 
globe in one hand, a sceptre in the other, a 
sword by his side, the imperial mantle over his 
shoulders, the cross of Christ round his neck, and 
his feet in the sarcophagus of Augustus, — Carlo 
Magno in his tomb, in which attitude he re- 
mained for three hundred and fifty-two years — 
from 852 to 1166, when Frederick Barberousse, 
coveting the chair for his coronation, entered the 
tomb. Barberousse was an illustrious prince and 
a valiant soldier ; and it must, therefore, have 
been a moment singularly strange when this 
crowned man stood before the crowned corpse 
of Charlemagne — the one in all the majesty of 
empire, the other in all the majesty of death. 
The soldier overcame the shades of greatness ; 
the living became the despoliator of inanimate 
worth. The chapel claimed the skeleton, and 
Barberousse the marble chair, which afterwards 
became the throne where thirty-six emperors 
were crowned. Ferdinand the First was the last ; 
Charles the Fifth preceded him. The German 
emperors are now crowned at Frankfort. 


Frederick Barberousse. 


83 


I remained spell-bound near this chair, so sim- 
ple, yet so grand. I gazed upon the marble 
steps, marked by the feet of those thirty-six 
Caesars who had here seen the bursting forth 
of their illustriousness, and who, each in his 
turn, had ceased to be of the living. Thoughts 
started in my mind, recollections flashed across 
my memory. When Frederick Barberousse was 
old, he determined for the second or third time 
to engage in the Holy War. One day he 
reached the banks of the beautiful river Cyd- 
nus, and, being warm, took a fancy to bathe. 
The man who could profane the tomb of 
Charlemagne might well forget Alexander. He 
entered the river ; the cold seized him. Alex- 
ander was young, and survived ; Barberousse 
was old, and lost his life. 

It appears to me as probable, that, one day or 
another, the pious thought will strike some saint, 
king, or emperor, to take the remains of Charle- 
magne from the armory where the sacristans 
have placed them — gathered all that still exists 
of that great skeleton — and place them once 
more in the arm-chair, the Carlovingian diadem 
upon the skull, the globe of the empire on the 
arm, and the imperial mantle over the bones. 

This would be a magnificent sight for him who 
dared to look at the apparition. What thoughts 
would crowd upon his mind when beholding the 


84 


The Rhine. 


son of Pepin in his tomb — he, who equalled in 
greatness Augustus or Sesostris : he, who in 
fiction, is a knight-errant, like Roland — a ma- 
gician, like Merlin ; for religion, a saint, like 
Peter or Jerome; for philosophy, civilization 
personifies him, and every thousand years as- 
sumes a giant form to traverse some profound 
abyss — civil wars, barbarism, revolutions ; which 
calls himself at one time Csesar, then Charle- 
magne, and at another time Napoleon. 

In 1804, when Buonaparte became known as 
Napoleon, he visited Aix-la-Chapelle. Josephine, 
who accompanied him, had the caprice to sit 
down on this chair; but Napoleon, out of respect 
for Charlemagne, took off his hat, and remained 
for some time standing, and in silence. The fol- 
lowing fact is somewhat remarkable, and struck 
me forcibly:— In 814 Charlemagne died; a thou- 
sand years afterwards, most probably about the 
same hour, Napoleon fell. 

In that fatal year, 1814, the allied sovereigns 
visited the tomb of the great Carolo. Alexander 
of Russia, like Napoleon, took off his hat and 
uniform ; Frederick William of Prussia kept on 
his casquette de petite tenue ; Francis retained his 
surtout and round bonnet. The King of Prussia 
stood upon the marble steps, receiving informa- 
tion from the prevot of the chapitre respecting 
the coronation of the emperors of Germany ; 


The Swiss Guide. 


85 


the two emperors remained silent. Napoleon, 
Josephine, Alexander, Frederick William, and 
Francis, are now no more. 

My guide, who gave me these details, was an 
old French soldier. Formerly he shouldered his 
musket, and marched at the sound of the drum ; 
now, he carries a halberd in the clerical cere- 
monies before the chapitre. This man, who 
speaks to travelers of Charlemagne, has Napoleon 
nearest his heart. When he spoke of the battles 
in which he had fought, of his old comrades, and 
of his colonel, the tears streamed from his eyes 
He knew that I was a Frenchman; and, on my 
leaving, said, with a solemnity which I shall 
never forget — 

“You can say, Sir, that you saw at Aix-la- 
Chapelle an old soldier of the 36th Swiss regi- 
ment.” 

Then, a moment afterwards, added — 

“You can also state that he belongs to three 
nations — Prussian by birth ; Swiss by profession ; 
but his whole heart is French.” 

On quitting the chapel I was so much absorbed 
in reflection, that I all but passed a lovely facade 
of the fourteenth century, ornamented with the 
statues of seven emperors. I was awoke from my 
reverie by the sudden bursts of laughter which 
escaped from two travelers, the elder of whom, I 
was told in the morning by my landlord, was 


86 


The RJiine. 


M. le Comte d’A., of the most noble family of 
Artois. 

“ Here are names ! ” they cried. “ It certainly 
required a revolution to form such names as 
these. Le Capitaine Lasoupe, and Colonel Grain- 
dorge.” 

My poor Swiss had spoken to them, as he did 
to me, about his old captain and colonel, for they 
were so called. 

A few minutes afterwards I was on my way to 
the Hotel-de-Ville, the supposed birthplace of 
Charlemagne, which, like the chapel, is an edifice 
made of five or six others. In the middle of the 
court there is a fountain of great antiquity, with 
a bronze statue of Charlemagne. To the left and 
right are two others — both surmounted with 
eagles, their heads half turned towards the grave 
and tranquil emperor. 

The evening was approaching. I had passed 
the whole of the day among these grand and 
austere souvenirs ; and, therefore, deemed it 
essential to take a walk in the open fields, to 
breathe the fresh air, and to watch the rays of 
the declining sun. I wandered along some 
dilapidated walls, entered a field, then some 
beautiful alleys, in one of which I seated myself. 
Aix-la-Chapelle lay extended before me, partly 
hid by the shades of evening, which were falling 
around. By degrees the fogs gained the roofs 


Hotel-de- Ville. 


87 


of the houses, and shrouded the town steeples; 
then nothing was seen but two huge masses — the 
Hotel-de-Ville and the chapel. All the emotions, 
all the thoughts and visions which flitted across 
my mind during the day, now crowded upon me. 
The first of the two dark objects was to me only 
the birthplace of a child ; the second was the 
resting-place of greatness. At intervals, in the 
midst of my reverie, I imagined that I saw the 
shade of this giant, whom we call Charlemagne, 
developing itself between this great cradle and 
still greater tomb. 


88 


The Rhine . 


CHAPTER X. 

COLOGNE— THE BANKS OF THE RHINE — ANDER- 
NACH. 

Duez. — Cathedral of Cologne. — The Peasantry. — The Strolling 
Musician. — Personifiers of the gods Goulu, . Gluton, Gonifre, 
and Gouliaf. — Dome of the Cathedral of Cologne. — Epitaph. 
— Tomb of the Three Wise Men of the East. — Destiny. — 
The Hotel-de-Ville. — The Three Bas-Reliefs. — The Epic 
Poet of Cologne. — Cologne at Night. — Time and its Effects. 



HE sun had set when we reached Cologne. 


JL I gave my luggage to a porter, with or- 
ders to carry it to an hotel at Duez, a little town 
on the opposite side of the Rhine ; and directed 
my steps towards the cathedral. Rather than 
ask my way, I wandered up and down the nar- 
row streets, which night had all but obscured. 
At last I entered a gateway leading to a court, 
and came out on an open square — dark and de- 
serted. A magnificent spectacle now presented 
itself. Before me, in the fantastic light of a 
crtpusculaire sky, rose, in the midst of a group 
of low houses, an enormous black mass, studded 
with pinnacles and belfries. A little farther was 
another, not quite so broad as the first, but 
higher ; a kind of square fortress, flanked at its 
angles with four long detached towers, having 


Cologne Cathedral. 


89 


on its summit something resembling a huge 
feather. On approaching, I discovered that it 
was the cathedral of Cologne. 

What appeared like a large feather was a 
crane, to which sheets of lead were appended, 
and which, from its workable appearance, in- 
dicated to passers-by that this unfinished tem- 
ple may one day be completed ; that the dream 
of Engelbert de Berg, which was realized under 
Conrad de Hochsteden, may, in an age or two, 
be the greatest cathedral in the world. This 
incomplete Iliad sees Homers in futurity. 

The church was shut. I surveyed the steeples, 
and was startled at their dimensions. What I 
had taken for towers are the projections of the 
buttresses. Though only the first story is com- 
pleted, the building is already nearly as high as 
the towers of Notre Dame at Paris. Should 
the spire, according to the plan, be placed upon 
this monstrous trunk, Strasburg would be, com- 
paratively speaking, small by its side. It has 
always struck me that nothing resembles ruin 
more than an unfinished edifice. Briars, saxi- 
frages, and pellitories — indeed, all weeds that 
root themselves in the crevices and at the base 
of old buildings — have besieged these vener- 
able walls. Man only constructs what Nature 
in time destroys. 

All was quiet ; there was no one near to 


9 o 


The Rhine. 


break the prevailing silence. I approached the 
facade, as near as the gate would permit me, 
and heard the countless shrubs gently rustling 
in the night breeze. A light which appeared 
at a neighboring window, cast its rays upon a 
group of exquisite statues — angels and saints, 
reading or preaching, with a large open book 
before them. Admirable prologue for a church, 
which is nothing else than the Word made 
marble, brass or stone ! Swallows have fear- 
lessly taken up their abode here, and their sim- 
ple yet curious masonry contrasts strangely with 
the architecture of the building. 

This was my first visit to the cathedral of 
Cologne. 

By-the-by, I have told nothing of the road 
between it and Aix-la-Chapelle. In fact, very 
little can be said ; — a green plain, with an 
occasional oak and a few poplar- trees, alone 
meet the eye. In the villages, the old female 
peasants, enveloped in long mantles, walk about 
like spectres ; while the young, clothed in short 
jupons , are seen on their knees, washing the 
door-steps. As for the men, they are decorated 
with blue smock-frocks and high-crowned hats,' 
as if they were the peasants of a constitutional 
country. 

Scarcely a single person was seen on the 
road ; the inclemency of the weather was, per- 


Cologne Cathedral. 


91 


haps, the cause. A poor strolling musician 
passed — a stick in one hand, and his cornet- 
a-piston in the other. He was clothed in a 
blue coat, a fancy waistcoat, and white trous- 
ers, with bottoms turned up as high as the 
legs of his boots. The pauvre diable , from 
the knees upwards, was fitted out for a ball ; 
his lower extremities, however, were better 
suited for the road. In a little square village, 
in front of an auberge, I admired four jolly- 
looking travelers seated before a table loaded 
with flesh, fish and wines. One was drinking, 
another cutting, a third eating, a fourth de- 
vouring — like four personifications of Voracious- 
ness and Gourmandism. It seemed to me as 
if I beheld the gods Goulu, Glouton, Gonifre, 
and Gouliaf, seated round a mountain of eat- 
ables. 

The following morning I again visited the 
dome of the cathedral of Cologne. I exam- 
ined the windows of this magnificent edifice, 
which are of the time of Maximilian, painted 
with all the extravagance of the German Re- 
naissance. On one of them is a representation 
of the genealogy of the Holy Virgin. At the 
bottom of the picture, Adam, in the costume 
of an emperor, is lying upon his back. A large 
tree, which fills the whole pane, is growing out 
of his stomach, and on the branches appear all 


9 2 


The Rhine . 


the crowned ancestors of Mary : David play- 
ing the harp, Solomon in pensiveness ; and at 
the top of the tree a flower opens, and dis- 
closes the Virgin carrying the infant Jesus. 

A few steps farther on I read this epitaph, 
which breathes sorrow and resignation : 

“ Inclitvs ante fvi comes emvndvs, 

Vocitatvs, hie dece prostratvs, sub 
Tegor vt volvi. Frishem, sancte, 

Mevm fero, petre, tibi comitatvm 
Et mihi redde statvm, te precor, 

Etherevm Hsec. Lapidvm massa 
Comitis complectitvr ossa.” 

I entered the church and was struck with the 
choir. There are pictures of all epochs and 
of all forms ; innumerable marble statues of 
bishops ; chevaliers of the time of the cru- 
sades, their dogs lying lovingly at their feet ; 
apostles clothed in golden robes ; and tapes- 
tries painted from the designs of Rubens. 
Everything, it must be said, is shamefully de- 
molished. If some one constructed the exte- 
rior of the cathedral of Cologne, I do not 
know who has demolished the interior. There 
is not a tomb entire, the figures being either 
broken off or mutilated. The flies revel on 
the venerable face of the Archbishop Philip of 
Heinsburg, and the man called Conrad of 
Hochsteden, the founder of the church, like 
Gulliver, in the Lilliputian tale, cannot at 


Tomb of the Wise Men. 


93 


present crush the spiders that knit him to the 
ground. Alas ! the bronze arm is nothing to 
the arm of flesh. I observed, in an obscure 
corner, the dismantled statue of an old man 
with a long beard ; I believe it is that of 
Michael Angelo. 

I will now mention the most venerable struc- 
ture which this church contains : that of the 
famed tomb of the Three Wise Men of the 
East. 

The room is of marble, is rather large, and 
represents the styles of Louis the Thirteenth 
and Louis the Fourteenth. On raising our 
eyes, we perceive a bas-relief representing the 
adoration of the three kings, and, underneath, 
the inscription : 

“ Corpora ranctorum recubant hie terna magorum, 

Ex his sublatum nihil est alibive locatum.” 

This, then, is the resting place of the three 
poetic kings of the east. Indeed, there is no 
legend that pleases me so much as this of the 
Mille et Une Nuits. I approached the tomb, 
and perceived, in the shade, a massive reli- 
quaire , sparkling with pearls, diamonds, and 
other precious stones, which seemed to relate 
the history of these three kings, ab orienie 
venerunt. In front of the tomb are three 
lamps, the one bearing the name of Gasper. 


94 


The Rhine. 


the other Melchior, and the third Balthazar. 
It is an ingenious idea to have — somehow 
illuminated — the names of the three wise men 
in front of the sepulchre. 

On leaving, something pierced the sole of 
my boot. I looked downwards, and found that 
it was a large nail projecting from a square of 
black marble, upon which I was walking. After 
examining the stone, I remembered that Mary 
of Medicis had desired that her heart should 
be placed under the pavement of the cathe- 
dral of Cologne, and before the tomb of the 
three kings. Formerly a bronze or brass plate, 
with an inscription, covered it ; but when the 
French took Cologne, some revolutionist, or 
perhaps a rapacious brazier, seized it, as had 
been done by many others ; for a host of brass 
nails, projecting from the marble, bespeak dep- 
redations of a similar nature. Alas, poor queen ! 
She first saw herself effaced from the heart of 
Louis the Thirteenth, her son ; then from the 
remembrance of Richelieu, her creature ; and 
now she is effaced from the earth. 

How strange are the freaks of destiny ! Mary 
de Medicis, widow of Henry the Fourth, ex- 
iled and abandoned, had a daughter, Henriette, 
widow of Charles the First, who died at Cologne 
in 1642, in the house where, sixty-five years 
before, Rubens, her painter, was born. 


The Hotel-de-Ville. 


95 


The dome of Cologne, when seen by day, 
appeared to me to have lost a little of its sub- 
limity ; it no longer had what I call la grandeur 
crepusculaire that the evening lends to huge 
objects ; and I must say that the cathedral of 
Beauvais, which is scarcely known, is not in- 
ferior, either in size or in detail, to the cathe- 
dral of Cologne. 

The Hotel-de-Ville, situated near the cathe- 
dral, is one of those singular edifices which have 
been built at different times, and which consist 
of all the styles of architecture seen in ancient 
buildings. The mode in which these edifices 
have been built forms rather an interesting 
study. Nothing is regular — no fixed plan has 
been drawn out — all has been built as necessity 
required. 

Thus the Hotel-de-Ville, which has, probably, 
some Roman cave near its foundation, was, in 
1250, only a structure similar to those of our 
edifices built with pillars. For the convenience 
of the night-watchman, and in order to sound 
the alarum, a steeple was required, and in the 
fourteenth century a tower was built. Under 
Maximilian a taste for elegant structures was 
everywhere spread, and the bishops of Cologne, 
deeming it essential to dress their city-house 
in new raiments, engaged an Italian architect, 
a pupil, probably, of old Michael Angelo, and 


9 6 


The Rhine . 


a French sculptor, who adjusted on the .black- 
ened facade of the thirteenth century a tri- 
umphant and magnificent porch. A few years 
expired, and they stood sadly in want of a 
promenoir by the side of the Registry. A back 
court was built, and galleries erected, which 
were sumptuously enlivened by heraldry and 
bas-reliefs. These I had the pleasure of seeing ; 
but, in a few years, no person will have the 
same gratification, for, without anything be- 
ing done to prevent it, they are fast falling 
into ruins. At last, under Charles the Fifth, 
a large room for sales and for the assemblies of 
the citizens was required, and a tasteful build- 
ing of stone and brick was added. Thus a 
corps of the thirteenth century, a belfry of the 
fourteenth, a porch and back-court of the time 
of Maximilian, and a hall of that of Charles the 
Fifth, linked together in an original and pleas- 
ing manner, form the Hotel-de-Ville of Cologne. 

I went up to the belfry ; and under a gloomy 
sky, which harmonized with the edifice and with 
my thoughts, I saw at my feet the whole of this 
admirable town. 

From Thurmchen to Bayenthurme, the town, 
which extends upwards of a league on the 
banks of the river, displays a whole host of win- 
dows and facades. In the midst of roofs, tur- 
rets and gables, the summits of twenty- four 


The Hotel-de-Ville . 


9 7 


churches strike the eye, all of different styles, 
and each church, from its grandeur, worthy of 
the name of cathedral. If we examine the 
town en detail, all is stir, all is life. The 
bridge is crowded with passengers and car- 
riages ; the river is covered with sails. Here 
and there clumps of trees caress, as it were, 
the houses blackened by time ; and the old 
stone hotels of the fifteenth century, with their 
long frieze of sculptured flowers, fruit and 
leaves, upon which the dove, when tired, rests 
itself, relieve the monotony of the slate roofs 
and brick fronts which surround them. 

Round this great town — mercantile from its 
industry, military from its position, marine from 
its river— is a vast plain that borders Germany, 
which the Rhine crosses at different places, 
and is crowned on the northeast by historic 
croupes — that wonderful nest of legends and 
traditions, called the “ Seven Mountains.” Thus 
Holland and its commerce, Germany and its 
poetry — like the two great aspects of the hu- 
man mind, the positive and the ideal — shed 
their light upon the horizon of Cologne ; a city 
of business and of meditation. 

After descending from the belfry, I stopped 
in the yard before a handsome porch of the 
Renaissance, the second story of which is 
formed of a series of small triumphal arches, 
5 


9 8 


The Rhine. 


with inscriptions. The first is dedicated *to 
Caesar ; the second to Augustus ; the third to 
Agrippa, the founder of Cologne ; the fourth to 
Constantine, the Christian emperor ; the fifth 
to Justine, the great legislator; and the sixth 
to Maximilian. Upon the facade, the poetic 
sculptor has chased three bas-reliefs , repre- 
senting the three lion-combatants, Milo of Cro- 
tona, Pepin-le-Bref, and Daniel. At the two 
extremities he has placed Milon de Crotone, 
attacking the lions by strength of body ; and 
Daniel subduing the lions by the power of 
mind. Between these is Pepin-le-Bref, con- 
quering his ferocious antagonist with that mix- 
ture of moral and physical strength which dis- 
tinguishes the soldier. Between pure strength 
and pure thought, is courage ; between the 
athlete and the prophet — the hero. 

Pepin, sword in hand, has plunged his left 
arm, which is enveloped in his mantle, into 
the mouth of the lion : the animal stands, with 
extended claws, in that attitude which in her- 
aldry represents the lion rampant. Pepin at- 
tacks it bravely and vanquishes. Daniel is 
standing motionless, his arms by his side, and 
his eyes lifted up to Heaven, the lions lovingly 
rolling at his feet. As for Milo de Crotona, 
he defends himself against the lion, which is 
in the act of devouring him. His blind pre- 


The Poet of Cologne. 


99 


sumption has put too much faith in muscle, 
in corporeal strength. These three bas-reliefs 
contain a world of meaning ; the last produces 
a powerful effect. It is Nature avenging her- 
self on the man whose only faith is in brute 
force.. 

As I was about to leave the town-house — this 
spacious building, this dwelling, rich in legend- 
ary lore as well as in historical facts — a man, 
in appearance older than he actually was, 
crooked from disposition more than from the 
influence' of age, crossed the yard. The per- 
son. who conducted me to the belfry, in point- 
ing him out, said : 

“ That man is a poet : he has composed sev- 
eral epics against Napoleon, against the revo- 
lution of 1830, and against the French. The 
last, his chef d'ceiivre, beseeches an architect to 
finish the church of Cologne in the same style 
as the Pantheon in Paris.” 

Epics! granted! Nevertheless, this man, or 
poet, is the most unwashed-looking animal that 
ever I put eyes upon. I do not think we have 
anything in France that will bear a comparison 
with the epic poet of Cologne. 

To make up for the opinion which this 
strange -looking animal had formed of us, a 
little old man, with a quick eye, came out of 
a barber’s shop, in one — I do not know which 


IOO 


The Rhine. 


— of the dark and obscure streets, and guessing 
my country, from my appearance, came to me, 
shouting out : 

“ Monsieur, Monsieur, fous, Francais ! oh, les 
Francais! ran! plan! plan! plan! ran, tan, plan ! 
la querre a toute le monde ! Prafes ! Prafes ! 
Napoleon, n’est-ce pas? La querre a toute 
l’Europe! Oh, les Francais, pien Prafes, Mon- 
sieur. La paionette au qui a tous ces Priciens, 
eine ponnea quilpite gomme a Iena. Prafo les 
Francais ! ran ! plan ! plan ! ” 

I must admit that this harrangue pleased me. 
France is great in the recollection and in the 
hopes of these people. All on the banks of 
the Rhine love us — I had almost said, wait 
for us. 

In the evening, as the stars were shining, I 
took a walk upon the side of the river opposite 
to Cologne. Before me was the whole town, 
with its innumerable steeples figuring in detail 
upon the pale western sky. To my left rose, 
like the giant of Cologne, the high spire of 
St. Martin’s, with its two towers ; and, almost 
in front, the sombre abside-cathedral, with its 
many sharp-pointed spires, resembling a mon- 
strous hedgehog, the crane forming the tail, 
and near the base two lights, which appeared 
like two eyes sparkling with fire. Nothing dis- 
turbed the stillness of the night but the rustling 


A Reverie. 


IOI 


of the waters at my feet, the heavy tramp of 
a horse’s hoofs upon the bridge, and the sound 
of a blacksmith’s hammer. A long stream of 
fire that issued from the forge caused the ad- 
joining windows to sparkle ; then, as if hasten- 
ing to its opposite element, disappeared in the 
water. 

From this grand and sombre ensemble , my 
thoughts took a melancholy turn, and., in a 
kind of reverie, I said to myself, “ The germaine 
city has disappeared — the city of Agrippa is no 
longer — but the town of St. Engelbert still 
stands. How long will it be so? Decay, more 
than a thousand years since, seized upon the 
temple built by Saint Helena ; the church con- 
structed by the Archbishop Anno is fast de- 
caying. Cologne is demolished by its river. 
Scarcely a day passes but some old stone, some 
ancient relic, is detached by the commotion of 
the steamboats. A town is not situated with 
impunity upon the great artery of Europe. 
Cologne, though not so old as Treves or So- 
leure, has already been thrice deformed and 
transformed, by the rapid and violent change 
of ideas to which it has been subjected. All 
is changing. The spirit of positivism and utili- 
tarianism — for which the grovelers of the pres- 
ent day are such strong advocates — penetrates 


102 


The Rhine. 


and destroys. Architecture, old and rever- 
ential, gives way to modern “ good taste." Alas! 
old cities are fast disappearing. 


The Insignificance of Man . 


103 


CHAPTER XI. 


APROPOS OF THE HOUSE “ IBACH.” 


Man’s Insignificancy. — The House Ibach. — Marie de Medicis, 
Richelieu, and Louis the Thirteenth. 



HAT Nature does, perhaps Nature 


knows; but one thing is certain, and I 


am not the only one who says so, that men know 
not what they do. Often in confronting history 
with the material world, in the midst of those 
comparisons which my mind draws between the 
events hidden by God and which time and crea- 
tion partly disclose, I have secretly shuddered, 
when thinking that the forests, the lakes, the 
mountains, the sky, the stars, and the ocean, are 
things clear and terrible, abounding in light and 
full of science, and look, as it were, in disdain 
upon man — that haughty, presumptuous thing, 
whose arm is linked to impotence — that piece of 
vanity, blind in its own ignorance. The tree 
may be conscious of its fruit ; but, to me, man 
knows nothing of his destiny. 

The life of man and his understanding are at 
the mercy of a Divine power, called by some, 
Providence, — by others, Chance, which blends, 
combines, and decomposes all ; which conceals 


104 


The Rhine. 


its workings in the clouds, and discloses the re- 
sults in open day. We think we do one thing, 
whilst we do another, urceus exit. History 
affords copious proofs of this. When the hus- 
band of Catherine de Medicis, and the lover of 
Diane de Poitiers, allowed himself to be allured 
by Philippe Due, the handsome Pitmontaise , it 
was not only Diane d’Angouleme that he en- 
gendered, but he brought about the reconcilia- 
tion of his son Henry the Third with his cousin 
Henry the Fourth. When Charles the Second 
of England hid himself, after the battle of 
Worcester, in the trunk of an oak, he only 
thought of concealment — something more was 
the result; he named a constellation “The Royal 
Oak,” and gave Halley the opportunity of de- 
tracting from the fame of Tycho. Strange that 
the second husband of Madame de Maintenon 
in revoking the Edict of Nantes, and the parlia- 
ment of 1688 in expelling James the Second, 
should bring about the singular battle of 
Almanza, where, face to face, were the French 
army, commanded by an Englishman, Marshal 
Berwick, and the English army, commanded by 
a Frenchman, Ruvigny, Lord Galloway. If 
Louis the Thirteenth had not died on the 14th 
of May, 1643, it would never have struck the old 
Count de Fontana to attack Rocroy, which gave 
an heroic prince of twenty-two the glorious op- 


Laube spine de Ch&teauneuf. 


105 


portunity of making the Duke d’Enghien the 
great Conde. 

In the midst of all these strange and striking 
facts which load our chronologies, what singular 
and unforeseen occurrences ! what formidable 
counter-blows! In 1664, Louis the Fourteenth, 
after the offense done to his ambassador, Crequi, 
caused the Corsicans to be banished from Rome; 
a hundred and forty years afterwards Buonaparte 
exiled the Bourbons from France! 

What shadows ! but still, what light appears 
in the midst of the darkness! About 1612, when 
Henry of Montmorency, then about seventeen 
years of age, saw among the servants of his father 
a pale and mean-looking menial, Laubespine de 
Chateauneuf, bowing and scraping before him, 
who could have whispered in his ears that this 
page would become under-deacon ; that this 
under-deacon would become the lord-keeper of 
the great seal ; that this keeper of the great seal 
would preside at the parliament of Toulouse; 
and that, at the expiration of twenty years, this 
“deacon-president’' would surlily demand from 
the Pope permission to have his master, Henry 
the Second, Duke of Montmorency, Marshal of 
France, and peer of the kingdom, decapitated? 
When the president of Thou so carefully added 
his clauses to the ninth edict of Louis the 
Eleventh, who could have told the monarch that 
5* 


io6 


The Rhine . 


this very edict, with Laubardemont for a handle, 
would be the hatchet with which Richelieu 
would strike off the head of his son ? 

In the midst of all this chaos there are laws ; 
confusion is only on the surface, order is at the 
bottom. After long intervals, frightful facts 
similar to those which astounded our fathers, 
come like comets, in all their terror, upon our- 
selves; always the same ambushes — the same mis- 
fortunes; always foundering upon the same coasts. 
The name alone changes — the acts are still 
committed. A few days before the fatal treaty 
of 1814, the emperor might have said to his 
thirteen marshals — 

Amen dico vobis quia unus vestrum me traditurus est. 

A Caesar cherishes a Brutus; a Charles the First 
prevents a Cromwell from going to Jamaica; a 
Louis the Sixteenth throws obstacles in the way 
of a Mirabeau, who is desirous of setting out for 
the Indies; queens whose deeds are character- 
ized by cruelty are punished by ungrateful sons ; 
Agrippas beget Neros, who destroy those who 
gave them birth ; a Mary of Medicis engenders 
a Louis the Thirteenth, who banishes her. 

You, without doubt, remark the strange turn 
my thoughts have taken — from one idea to 
another — to these two Italians — to these two 
women, Agrippina and Mary de Medicis, the 


The House “ Ibach. 


107 


specters of Cologne. About sixteen hundred 
years ago, the daughter of Germanicus, mother 
of Nero, connected her name and memory with 
Cologne, as did, at a later date, the wife of 
Henry the Fourth and mother of Louis the 
Thirteenth. The first, who was born there, died 
by the poniard ; the second expired at Cologne, 
from the effects of poison. 

I visited, at Cologne, the house in which Mary 
of France breathed her last — the house Ibach 
according to some, and Jabach according to 
others ; but, instead of relating what I saw, I 
will tell the thoughts that flashed across my 
mind when there. Excuse me for not giving all 
the local details, of which I am so fond ; in fact, 
I am afraid that I have, ere this, fatigued my 
reader with my festons and my astragales. The 
unhappy queen died here, at the age of sixty- 
eight, on the 3rd of July, 1642. She was exiled 
for eight years from France, had wandered 
everywhere, and was very expensive' to the 
countries in which she stopped. When at Lon- 
don, Charles the First treated her with munifi- 
cence, allowing her, the three years she resided 
there, a hundred pounds sterling per day. After- 
wards — I must say it with regret — Paris returned 
that hospitality to Henrietta, daughter of Henry 
the Fourth and widow of Charles the First, by 
giving her a garret in the Louvre, where she 


io8 


The Rhine . 


often remained in bed for want of the comforts 
of a fire, anxiously expecting a few louis that 
the coadjuteur had promised to lend her. Her 
mother, the widow of Henry the Fourth, expe- 
rienced the same misery at Cologne. 

How strange and striking are these details! 
Marie de Medicis was not long dead when 
Richelieu ceased to live, and Louis the Thir- 
teenth expired the following year. For what 
good was the inveterate hatred that existed be- 
tween these three mortal beings ? for what end 
so much intrigue, quarreling, and persecution? — 
God alone knows. All three died almost at the 
same hour. 

There is something remaining of a mysterious 
nature about Mary de Medicis. I have always 
been horrified at the terrible sentence that the 
President Henault, probably without intention, 
wrote upon this queen : 

Elle ne fut pas assez surprise de la mort de Henri IV. 

I must admit that all this tends to shed a lus- 
ter upon that admirable epoch, the glorious reign 
of Louis the Fourteenth. The darkness that 
obscured the beginning of that century con- 
trasted admirably with the brilliancy of its close. 
Louis the Fourteenth was not only, as Riche- 
lieu, powerful, but he was majestic ; not only, as 
Cromwell, great, but in him was serenity. Louis 


Louis the Fourteenth. 


109 


the Fourteenth was not, perhaps, the genius in 
the master, but genius surrounded him. This 
may lessen a king in the eyes of some, but it 
adds to the glory of his reign. As for me, as 
you already know, I love that which is absolute, 
which is perfect ; and therefore have always had 
a profound respect for this grave and worthy 
prince, so well born, so much loved, and so well 
surrounded ; a king in his cradle, a king in the 
tomb ; true sovereign in every acceptation of 
the word ; central monarch of civilization ; pivot 
of Europe ; seeing, so to speak, from tour to 
tour, eight popes, five sultans, three emperors, 
two kings of Spain, three kings of Portugal, four 
kings and one queen of England, three kings of 
Denmark, one queen and two kings of Sweden, 
four kings of Poland, and four czars of Muscovy, 
appear, shine forth, and disappear around his 
throne ; polar star of an entire age, who, during 
seventy-two years, saw all the constellations ma- 
jestically perform their evolutions round him. 


no 


The Rhine. 


CHAPTER XII. 

A FEW WORDS RESPECTING THE WALDRAF 
MUSEUM. 

Schleis Kotten — “ Stretching-out-of-the-hand System,” or, Trav- 
eling Contingencies. — Recapitulation. 

B ESIDES the cathedral, the Hotel-de-Ville, 
and the Ibach House, I visited Schleis 
Kotten, the vestiges of the subterranean aque- 
duct which, at the time of the Romans, led from 
Cologne to Travers. Traces of it are at the 
present day to be seen in thirty-two villages. 
In Cologne I inspected the Waldraf Museum, 
and am almost tempted to give you an inventory 
of all I saw; but I will spare you. Suffice it to 
know, that if I did not find the war-chariot 
of the ancient Germans, the famed Egyptian 
mummy, or the grand culverin founded at Co- 
logne in 1400, I saw a very fine sarcophagus, and 
the armory of Bernard Bishop of Galen. I was 
also shown an enormous cuirass, which was said 
to have been the property of Jean de Wert, a 
general of the empire ; but I sought in vain for 
his sword, which measured eight feet and a half 
in length; his immense pike, likened to the pine 
of Polyphemus; and his large helmet, that, as it 
is said, took two men to raise it. 


The Waldraf Museum . 


in 


The pleasure of seeing all these curiosities — 
museums, churches, town-houses, &c. — is alloyed 
by the everlasting extended hand — pay, pay. 
Upon the borders of the Rhine, as at other 
places much frequented, the stranger is obliged 
to have his hand in constant communion with 
his pocket. The purse of the traveler — that 
precious article — is to him everything, since hos- 
pitality is no longer seen receiving the weary 
traveler with soft words and cordial looks. I 
will give you an idea of the extent to which the 
stretching-out-of-the-hand is carried on among 
the intelligents naturels of this country. Re- 
member, there is no exaggeration — only the 
truth. 

On entering a town, an understrapper ascer- 
tains the hotel that you intend putting up at, 
asks for your passport, takes it, and puts it into 
his pocket. The horses stop ; you look round, 
and find that you are in a courtyard — that your 
present journey is terminated. The driver, who 
has not exchanged a word with any one during 
the journey, alights, opens the door, and ex- 
tends his hand with an air of modesty— “ Re- 
member the driver.” A minute elapses: the 
postilion presents himself, and makes an ha- 
rangue, which signifies, “ Don’t forget me.” The 
luggage is uncorded ; a tall, fleshless animal sets 
your portmanteau gently upon the ground, with 


1 12 


The Rhine. 


your nightcap on the top of it ; so much trouble 
“ must be rewarded.’’ Another creature, more 
curious perhaps than the latter, puts your chat- 
tels upon a wheelbarrow, asks the name of the 
hotel you have fixed upon, then runs before you, 
pushing his shapeless machine. No sooner ar- 
rived at the hotel than the host approaches, and 
begins a dialogue, which ought to be written in 
all languages upon the doors of the respective 
auberges. 

“ Good day, sir.” 

“ If you have a spare room, I should like to 
engage it.” . 

“ Very well, sir. Thomas, conduct the gentle- 
man to No. 4.” 

“ I should like something to eat.” 

“ Immediately, sir, immediately.” 

You go to No. 4, where you find your luggage 
has arrived. A man appears ; it is the person 
who conveyed the luggage to the hotel. “ The 
porter, sir.” A second makes his appearance; 
what the devil does he want ? It is the person 
who carried your luggage into the room. You 
say to him — 

“Very well; I shall pay you, on leaving, with 
the other servants.” 

“Monsieur,” the man replied, with a suppli- 
cating air, “I don’t belong to the hotel.” 

There is no alternative — “ disburse.” You 


The Traveler s Purse. 


1 13 


take a walk ; a handsome church presents itself. 
You cannot think of passing it: no, no, you 
must go in, for it is not every day you meet such 
a structure; you walk round, gazing at every- 
thing; at last a door meets your view. Jesus 
says, “ Compelle intrare the priests ought to 
keep the doors open, but the beadles shut them, 
in order to gain a few sous. An old woman, who 
has perceived your embarrassment, comes and 
shows you a bell by the side of a small wicket ; 
you ring, the wicket is opened, and the beadle 
stands before you. 

“Can I see the interior of the church?” 

“ Certainly,” the old man replies, a sort of 
grim smile lighting up his grave countenance. 

He draws out a bunch of keys, and directs his 
steps towards the principal entrance. Just as 
you are about to go in, something seizes you by 
the skirts of your coat; you turn round; it is the 
obliging old woman, whom you have forgotten, 
ungrateful wretch ! to reward — “pay!” You at 
last find yourself in the interior of the church ; 
you contemplate, admire, and are struck with 
wonder. 

“ Why is that picture covered with a green 
cloth ?” 

“ Because,” the beadle replies, “ it is the most 
beautiful picture in the church.” 

“What!” you say, in astonishment, “the best 


The Rhine . 


1 14 


picture hidden ; elsewhere it is exposed to view. 
Who is it by ? ” 

“ Rubens.” 

“ I should like to see it.” 

The beadle leaves you y and in a few minutes 
returns with an old pensive-looking individual 
by his side ; it is the churchwarden. This 
worthy personage presses a spring, the curtain 
draws, and you behold the picture. The paint- 
ing seen, the curtain closes, and the church- 
warden bows significantly — “ Pay, pay.” On 
continuing your walk in the church, preceded by 
the beadle, you arrive at the door of the choir, 
before which a man has taken up his stand in 
“ patient expectation.” It is a Swiss who has 
the charge of the choir. You walk round it, 
and, on leaving, your attentive- cicerone gra- 
ciously salutes you — “Only a trifle.”' You find 
yourself again with the beadle, and soon after 
pass before the sacristy. O, wonder of wonders ! 
the door is open. You enter, and find a sexton. 
The beadle retires, for the other must be left 
alone with his prey. The sexton smiles, shows 
you the urns, the ecclesiastical ornaments and 
decorated windows, bishops’ mitres, and, in a 
box, a skeleton of some saint dressed as a 
troubadour. You have seen the sacristy, there- 
fore “ must pay.” The beadle again appears, 
and leads you to the ladder that conducts to the 


The Traveler s Purse. 


115 


tower. A view from the steeple must be truly 
delightful. You decide on going up. The 
beadle pushes a door open ; you climb up about 
thirty steps, then you find that a door which is 
locked prevents you proceeding farther. You 
look back, and are surprised that the beadle is 
no longer with you — that you are alone. What’s 
to be done? You knock; a face appears; it is 
that of the bellman. He opens the door, for 
which kind action — “ Pay.” You proceed on 
your way — are delighted to find yourself alone — 
that the bellman has not followed. You then 
begin to enjoy the pleasure of solitude, and 
arrive with a light heart at the high platform of 
the tower. 

You look about, come and go, admire the 
blue sky, the smiling country, and the im- 
mense horizon. Suddenly you perceive an un- 
known animal walking by your side : then your 
ears are dinned with things you know, and, per- 
haps, care little about. It turns out to be the 
explicateur , who fills the high office of explaining 
to the stranger the magnificence of the steeple, 
the church, and the surrounding country. This 
man is ordinarily a stutterer, sometimes deaf; 
you do not listen to him; you forget him, in 
contemplating the churches, the streets, the 
trees, the rivers, and the hills. When you have 
seen all, you think of descending, and direct 


1 16 


The Rhine. 


your steps to the top of the ladder. The bell- 
man is there before you — “ Pay.” 

“ Very well,” you say, fingering your purse, 
which is momentarily dissolving; “how much 
must I give you ?” 

“ I am charged two francs for each person, 
which sum goes to the church revenue; but, Sir, 
you must give me something for my trouble.” 

You descend; the beadle makes his appear- 
ance, and conducts you with respect to the door 
of the church. So much trouble cannot fail to 
be well rewarded. 

You return to your hotel, and have scarcely 
entered when you- see a person approaching you 
with a familiar air, and who is totally a stranger 
to you. It is the understrapper who took your 
passport, and who now returns with it — to be 
paid. You dine; the hour of your departure 
comes, and a servant brings you in the bill — Pay; 
also a consideration for the trouble of taking the 
money. An ostler carries your portmanteau to 
the diligence — you must remember him. You 
get into the vehicle; you set off; night falls: you 
begin the same course to-morrow. 

Let us recapitulate. Something to the driver, 
a trifle to the postilion, the porter, the man who 
does not belong to the hotel, to the old woman, 
to Rubens, to the Swiss, to the. sexton, to the 
bellman, to the church revenue, to the beadle, to 


The Traveler s Purse. 


ii 7 


the passport-keeper, to the servants, and to the 
ostler. How many pays do you call that in a 
day? Remember, every one must be silver; 
copper is looked upon here with the greatest 
contempt, even by a bricklayer’s laborer. 

To this ingenious people the traveler is a sack 
of crowns, which the good inhabitants, in order 
to reduce the bulk as soon as possible, are ever 
sweating. The government itself occasionally 
claims a share of the spoil ; it takes your trunk 
and portmanteau, places them upon its shoulders, 
and offers you its hand. In large towns the 
porters pay to the royal treasury twelve sous two 
liards for each traveler. I was not a quarter of 
an hour at Aix-la-Chapelle before I had given 
my mite to the King of Prussia. 


1 1 8 


The Rhine. 


CHAPTER XIII 


ANDERNACH. 


A view from Andernach. — Village of Luttersdorf. — Cathedral.— 
Its Relics. — Andernach Castle. — Inscription. — The Tomb of 
Hoche. — Gothic Church and Inscription. 



NDERNACH, where I have been stopping 


T \ for the last three days, is an ancient muni- 
cipal town, situated upon the banks of the 
Rhine. The coup-cC ceil from my window is truly 
charming. Before me, at the foot of a high hill, 
which obscures from my view part of the blue 
sky, is a handsome tower of the thirteenth cen- 
tury ; to my right the Rhine, and the charming 
little white village of Leutersdorf, half hidden 
among the trees; and to my left the four steeples 
of a magnificent church. Under my window 
children are playing, the noise of their prattlings 
mingling with the quacking of geese and the 
chuckling of hens. 

I visited the church on the day of my arrival, 
the interior of which is, notwithstanding the 
hideous manner that some one has plastered it* 
rather handsome. The Emperor Valentinian, 
and a child of Frederick Barberousse, were in- 
terred in this church, but neither inscriptions 


An Adventure. 


119 


nor tombstones indicated the place where they 
were buried. Our Saviour at the tomb; a few 
statues, life size, of the fifteenth century, and a 
chevalier of the sixteenth, leaning against a wall; 
several figures; the fragments of a mausoleum of 
the Renaissance, were all that the smiling hump- 
backed bellringer could show me for a little piece 
of silvered copper which passes here for thirty sous. 

I must tell a little adventure which I had — 
an incident that has left on my mind the im- 
pression of a sombre dream. 

On leaving the church I walked round the 
city. The sun was setting behind the high 
hills that, in seeming pride and pristine glory, 
look down upon the Rhine, on the imperial 
tomb of Valentinian, on the abbey of Saint 
Thomas, and on the old walls of the feudal town 
of the electors of Treves. 

I pursued my way by the side of the moat 
that skirts the dilapidated walls, the fallen stones 
of which serve as seats and tables for half-naked 
urchins to play upon, and in the evening for 
young men to tell their fair bergtres the achings 
of their wounded hearts. The formidable castle, 
that was once the defense of Andernach, is now 
an immense ruin ; and the court, once the seat 
of war, is now covered with grass, upon which 
women bleach in summer the cloth that they 
have woven in winter. 


120 


The Rhine. 


After leaving the outer gate of Andernach, I 
found myself on the banks of the Rhine. The 
night was calm and serene, and nature had 
lulled itself to sleep. Shepherdesses came to 
drink from the clear stream, then in mirth ran 
away to hide themselves among the osieries. 
Before me a white village was all but lost in the 
distance, and towards the east, at the extreme 
border of the horizon, the full moon, red and 
round like the eye of a Cyclop, appeared between 
two clouds. 

How often have I walked thus, unconscious of 
all save the beauties which nature presented, 
alive only to that dame who has so great a sway 
over the sensitive mind ! I knew not where I 
was, nor where I was straying ; and when I 
awoke from my reverie I found myself at the 
foot of a rising ground, crowned at the summit 
by some stonework. I approached, and was 
somewhat startled on finding a tomb. Whose 
was it? I walked round, trying to discover the 
name of the person whom it memorialized, and 
at last perceived the following inscription in 
brass letters : 

L’arm6e de Sambre et Meuse k son G6n6ral en Chef. 
Above these two lines I saw, by the light of the 
moon, which was shining brightly, the name — 
HOCHE. The letters had been taken away, but 
had left their imprint on the granite. 


Tomb of Hoche. 


121 


That name, in this place, at such an hour, and 
seen by such a light, had a strange, an inexpress- 
ible effect upon me. Hoche was always a favorite 
of mine : he, like Marceau, was one of those 
young men who preluded Buonaparte in an at- 
tempt which was all but successful. This, then, 
I thought, is the resting-place of Hoche, and the 
well-remembered date of the 18th of April, 1797, 
flashed across my memory. 

I looked around me, endeavoring, but in vain, 
to identify the spot. To the north was a vast 
plain ; to the south, about the distance of a gun- 
shot, the Rhine ; and at my feet, at the base of 
this tomb, was a small village. 

At that moment a man passed a few steps 
from the monument. I asked him the name of 
the village, and he answered, while disappearing 
behind a hedge, “ Weiss Thurm.” 

These two words signify White Tower. I then 
remembered Turris Alba of the Romans, and 
was proud to find that Hoche had died in an 
illustrious place. It was here that Caesar, two 
thousand years ago, first crossed the Rhine. 

It is impossible for me to tell my inward feel- 
ings while contemplating the tomb of this great 
man. Compassion seized my heart. Can such 
be the resting place of this illustrious warrior, 
seemingly forgotten by his countrymen, un- 
heeded by the stranger! This tomb, built by 
6 


122 


The Rhine. 


his army, is at the mercy of the passer-by. The 
French General sleeps in a bean-field far from 
his country, and Prussian bricklayers make what- 
ever use it pleases them of this tomb ! 

It seemed to me as if I heard a voice coming 
from the heap of stones, saying, “France must 
again possess the Rhine.” 

Andernach is a lovely place, with which I was 
truly delighted. From the top of the hills the 
eye embraces an immense circle, extending from 
Sibengeburge to the crests of Ehrenbreitstein. 
Here there is not a stone of an edifice that has 
not its souvenir , not a single view in the country 
that has not its beauties and its graces; and, 
what is more, the countenances of the in- 
habitants have that frank and open expression 
which fails not to create delight in the heart of 
the traveler. Andernach is a charming town, 
notwithstanding Andernach is a deserted place. 
Nobody goes where History, Nature, and Poetry 
abound ; Coblentz, Bade, and Mannheim are 
now the exclusive resort of sophisticated tour- 
ists. 

I went a second time to the church. The 
Byzantine decoration of the steeples is rich, and 
of a taste at once rude and exquisite. The 
chapitres of the southern portal are very cu- 
rious; there is a representation of the Cruci- 
fixion still perfectly visible uoon the pediment, 


Bas-Relief at Andernack. 


123 


and on the facade a bas-relief ‘ representing Jesus 
on his knees, with His arms widely extended: 
on all sides of him lie scattered about, as if in a 
frightful dream, the mantle of derision, the 
sceptre of reeds, the crown of thorns, the rod, 
the pincers, the hammer, the nails, the ladder, 
the spear, the sponge filled with gall, the sinister 
profile of the hardened thief, the livid counte- 
nance of Judas ; and before the eyes of the Divine 
Master is the cross, and at a little distance the 
cock crowing, reminding him of the ingratitude 
and abandonment of his friend. This last idea is 
sublime ; there is depicted that moral sufferance 
which is more acute than the physical. 

The gigantic shadows of the two steeples 
darken this sad elegy. Round the bas-relief the 
sculptor has engraved the following expressive 
words : 

“ O vos omnesqui transit is per viam, attendite et 
videte si est dolor similis sicut dolor mens. 1538.” 

There is another handsome church at Ander- 
nach, of Gothic structure, which is now trans- 
formed into an immense stable for Prussian 
cavalry. By the half-open door we perceive a 
long row of horses, which are lost in the shadows 
of the chapel. Above the door are the words, 
“ Sancta Maria , ora pro nobis which is not 
exactly an apropos inscription for the abode of 
horses. 


124 


The Rhine. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE RHINE. 

The Rhine at Evening. — Contrast of the Rhine with other 
Rivers. — The First People who took Possession of the 
Banks of the Rhine. — Titus and the Twenty-second Legion. 
— Mysterious Populations of the Rhine. — Civilization. — 
Pepin-le-Bref, Charlemagne, and Napoleon. 

I LOVE rivers; they do more than bear 
merchandise — ideas float along their surface. 
Rivers, like clarions, sing to the ocean of the 
beauty of the earth, the fertility of plans, and 
the splendor of cities. 

Of all rivers, I prefer the Rhine. It is now a 
year, when passing the bridge of boats at Kehl, 
since I first saw it. I remember that I felt a 
certain respect, a sort of adoration, for this old, 
this classic stream. I never think of rivers — 
those great works of Nature, which are also 
great in History, — without emotion. 

I remember the Rhone at Valserine; I saw it 
in 1825, in a pleasant excursion to Switzerland, 
which is one of the sweet, happy recollections of 
my early life. I remember with what noise, with 
what ferocious bellowing, the Rhone precipitated 
itself into the gulf whilst the frail bridge upon 


The Rhine. 


125 


which I was standing was shaking beneath my 
feet. Ah! well! since that time, the Rhone 
brings to my mind the idea of a tiger, — the 
Rhine, that of a lion. 

The evening on which I saw the Rhine for the 
first time, I was impressed with the same idea. 
For several minutes I stood contemplating this 
proud and noble river — violent, but not furious; 
wild, but still majestic. It was swollen, and was 
magnificent in appearance, and was washing with 
its yellow mane, or, as Boileau says, its “ slimy 
beard,” the bridge of boats. Its two banks were 
lost in the twilight, and though its roaring was 
loud, still there was tranquillity. 

Yes, the Rhine is a noble river — feudal, re- 
publican, imperial — worthy, at the same time, 
of France and of Germany. The whole history 
of Europe is combined within its two great as- 
pects — in this flopd of the warrior and of the 
philosopher — in this proud stream, which causes 
France to bound with joy, and by whose pro- 
found murmurings Germany is bewildered in 
dreams. 

The Rhine is unique: it combines the qualities 
of every river. Like the Rhone, it is rapid ; 
broad, like the Loire ; encased, like the Meuse ; 
serpentine, like the Seine; limpid and green, like 
the Somme; historical, like the Tiber; royal, 
like the Danube; mysterious, like the Nile; 


126 


The Rhine. 


spangled with gold, like an American river ; and 
like a river of Asia, abounding with phantoms 
and fables. 

Before the commencement of History, per- 
haps before the existence of man, where the 
Rhine now is there was a double chain of vol- 
canos, which on their extinction left heaps of 
lava and basalt lying parallel, like two long walls. 
At the same epoch the gigantic crystallizations 
formed the primitive mountains; the enormous 
alluvions of which the secondary mountains con- 
sist were dried up ; the frightful heap which is 
now called the Alps grew gradually cold, and 
snow accumulated on them, from which two 
great streams issued, the one, — flowing towards 
the north, crossed the plains, encountered the 
sides of the extinguished volcanos, and emptied 
itself into the ocean ; the other, taking its course 
westward, fell from mountain to mountain, 
flowed along the side of the block of extin- 
guished volcanos which is now called Ardeche, 
and was finally lost in the Mediterranean. The 
first of those inundations is the Rhine, and the 
second the Rhone. 

From historical records we find that the first 
people who took possession of the banks of the 
Rhine were the half-savage Celts, who were 
afterwards named Gauls by the Romans. When 
Rome was in its glory, Caesar crossed the Rhine, 


The Rhine. 


127 


and shortly afterwards the whole of the river was 
under the jurisdiction of his empire. When the 
Twenty-second Legion returned from the siege 
of Jerusalem, Titus sent it to the banks of the 
Rhine, where it continued the work of Martius 
Agrippa. The conquerors required a town to 
join Melibocus to Taunus ; and Moguntiacum, 
began by Martius, was founded by the Legion, 
built by Trajan, and embellished by Adrian. 
Singular coincidence ! and which we must note 
in passing. This Twenty-second Legion brought 
with it Crescentius, who was the first that 
carried the Word of God into the Rhingau, and 
founded the new religion. God ordained that 
these ignorant men, who had pulled down the 
last stone of His temple upon the Jordan, should 
lay the first of another upon the banks of the 
Rhine. After Trajan and Adrian came Julian, 
who erected a fortress upon*the confluence of 
the Rhine and the Moselle ; then Valentinian, 
who built a number of castles. Thus, in a few 
centuries, Roman colonies, like an immense 
chain, linked the whole of the Rhine. 

At length the time arrived when Rome was to 
assume another aspect. The incursions of the 
northern hordes were eventually too frequent and 
too powerful for Rome ; so, about the sixth cen- 
tury, the banks of the Rhine were strewed with 
Roman ruins, as at present with feudal ones. 


128 


The Rhine. 


Charlemagne cleared away the rubbish, built 
fortresses, and opposed the German hordes; but, 
notwithstanding all that he did, notwithstanding 
his desire to do more, Rome died, and the phys- 
iognomy of the Rhine was changed. 

Already, as I before mentioned, an unper- 
ceived germ was sprouting in the Rhingau. Re- 
ligion, that divine eagle, began to spread its 
wings, and deposited among the rocks an egg 
that contained the germ of a world. Saint 
Apollinaire, following the example of Crescen- 
tius, who, in the year 70, preached the Word of 
God at Taunus, visited Rigomagum. Saint 
Martin, Bishop of Tours, catechised Confluentia ; 
Saint Materne, before visiting Tongres, resided 
at Cologne. At Treves, Christians began to 
suffer the death of martyrdom, and their ashes 
were swept away by the wind ; but these were 
not lost, for they became seeds, which were 
germinating in the fields during the passage of 
the barbarians, although nothing at that time 
was seen of them. 

After an historical period the Rhine became 
linked with the marvelous. Where the noise 
of man is hushed, Nature lends a tongue to the 
nests of birds, causes the caves to whisper, and 
thousand voices of solitude to murmur: where 
historical facts cease, imagination gives life to 
shadows and realities to dreams. Fables took 


The Rhine. 


129 


root, grew, and blossomed in the voids of His- 
tory, like weeds and brambles in the crevices of 
a ruined palace. 

Civilization, like the sun, has its nights and its 
days, its plentitudes and its eclipses ; now it dis- 
appears, but soon returns. 

As soon as civilization again dawned upon 
Taunus, there were upon the borders of the 
Rhine a whole host of legends and fabulous 
stories. Populations of mysterious beings, who 
inhabited the now dismantled castles, had held 
communion with the belles filles and beaux 
chevaliers of the place. Spirits of the rocks ; 
black hunters, crossing the thickets upon stags 
with six horns ; the maid of the black fen ; the 
six maidens of the red marshes; Wodan, the god 
with ten hands; the twelve black men; the 
raven that croaked its song; the devil who 
placed his stone at Teufelstein and his ladder at 
Teufelsleiter, and who had the effrontery to 
preach publicly at Gernsbach, near the Black 
Forest, but, happily, the Word of God was heard 
at the other side of the stream; the demon 
Urian, who crossed the Rhine at Dusseldorf, 
having upon his back the banks that he had 
taken from the sea-shore, with which he intended 
to destroy Aix-la-Chapelle, but being fatigued 
with his burden, and deceived by an old woman, 
he stupidly dropped his load at the imperial city, 
6 * 


130 


The Rhine. 


where that bank is at present pointed out, and 
bears the name of Loosberg. At that epoch, 
which for us was plunged into a penumbra, when 
magic lights were sparkling here and there, when 
the rocks, the woods, the valleys, were tenanted 
by apparitions; mysterious encounters, infernal 
castles, melodious songs sung by invisible song- 
stresses ; and frightful bursts of laughter emanat- 
ing from mysterious beings, — these, with a host 
of other adventures, shrouded in impossibility, 
and holding on by the heel of reality, are de- 
tailed in the legends. 

At last these phantoms disappeared as dawn 
burst in upon them. Civilization again resumed 
its sway, and fiction gave place to fact. The 
Rhine assumed another aspect: abbeys and con- 
vents increased ; churches were built along the 
banks of the river. The ecclesiastic princes mul- 
tiplied the edifices in the Rhingau, as the pre- 
fects of Rome had done before them. 

The sixteenth century approached : in the 
fourteenth the Rhine witnessed the invention of 
artillery; and on its bank, at Strasbourg, a print- 
ing-office was first established. In 1400 the fa- 
mous cannon, fourteen feet in length, was cast at 
Cologne ; and in 1472 Vindelin de Spire printed 
his Bible. A new world was making its appear- 
ance ; and, strange to say, it was upon the banks 
of the Rhine that those two mysterious tools 


The Rhine. 


131 


with which God unceasingly works out the civil- 
ization of man, — the catapult and the book — 
war and thought, — took a new form. 

The Rhine, in the destinies of Europe, has a 
sort of providential signification. It is the great 
moat which divides the north from the south. 
The Rhine for thirty ages, has seen the forms 
and reflected the shadows of almost all the 
warriors who tilled the old continent with that 
share which they call sword. Caesar crossed the 
Rhine in going to the south ; Attila crossed it 
when descending to the north. It was here that 
Clovis gained the battle of Tolbiac ; and that 
Charlemagne and Napoleon figured. Frederick 
Barberousse, Rodolph de Hapsbourg, and Fred- 
erick the First, were great, victorious, and 
formidable when here. For the thinker, who is 
conversant with History, two great eagles are 
perpetually hovering over the Rhine — that of 
the Roman legions, and the eagle of the French 
regiments. 

The Rhine — that noble flood, which the 
Romans named Rhenus superbus , bore at one 
time upon its surface bridges of boats, over 
which the armies of Italy, Spain, and France 
poured into Germany, and which, at a later date, 
were made use of by the hordes of barbarians 
when rushing into the ancient Roman world : 
at another, on its surface it floated peaceably the 


132 


The Rhine. 


fir-trees of Murg and of Saint Gall, the prophyry 
and the marble of Bale, the salt of Karlshall, the 
leather of Stromberg, the quicksilver of Lans- 
berg, the wine of Johannisberg, the slates of 
Coab, the cloth and earthenware of Wallendar, 
the silks and linens of Cologne. It majestically 
performs its double function of flood of war and 
flood of peace, having, without interruption, 
upon the ranges of hills which embank the most 
notable portion of its course, oak-trees on one 
side and vine-trees on the other — signifying 
strength and joy. 

For Homer the Rhine existed not; for Virgil 
it was only a frozen stream — Frigora Rheni ; for 
Shakspeare it was the “beautiful Rhine;” for 
us it is, and will be to the day when it shall be- 
come the grand question of Europe, a pictur- 
esque river, the resort of the unemployed of 
Ems, of Baden, and of Spa. 

Petrarch visited Aix-la-Chapelle, but I do not 
think he has spoken of the Rhine. 

The left bank belongs naturally to France: 
Providence, at three different periods, gave it its 
two banks — under Pepin-le-Bref, Charlemagne, 
and Napoleon. The empire of Pepin-le-Bref com- 
prised, properly speaking, France, with the ex- 
ception of Aquitaine and Gascony, and Germany 
as far as Bavaria. The empire of Charlemagne 
was twice as large as that of Napoleon. 


The Rhine. 


133 


It is true that Napoleon had three empires, or, 
more plainly speaking, was emperor in three 
ways, — immediately and directly of France, and, 
by his brothers, of Italy, Westphalia, and Hol- 
land. Taken in this sense, the empire of Na- 
poleon was at least equal to that of Charle- 
magne. 

These emperors were Titans; they held for a 
moment the universe in their hands, but Death 
ultimately caused them to relax their hold. 

The Rhine has had four distinct phases — first, 
the antedeluvian epoch, volcanos ; second, the 
ancient historical epoch, in which Caesar shone ; 
third, the marvelous epoch, in which Charle- 
magne triumphed ; fourth, the modern historical 
epoch, when Germany wrestled with France — 
when Napoleon for a time held his sway. 

The Rhine — providential flood — seems to be a 
symbolical stream. In its windings, in its course 
in the midst of all that it traverses, it is, so 
speaking, the image of civilization to which it 
has been so usefu‘1, and which it will still serve. 
It flows from Constance to Rotterdam ; from the 
country of eagles to the village of herrings; from 
the city of popes, of councils, and of emperors, 
to the counter of the merchant and of the 
citizen ; from the great Alps themselves to that 
immense body of water which we term ocean. 


134 


The Rhine. 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE MOUSE. 


Velmich. — Legend of the Priest and the Silver Bell. — Giant’s 
Tomb. — Explanation of the Mouse. — The Solitary in. 
habitants of the Ruin. 

N my leaving Cologne it rained the whole 



of the morning. I had taken my passage to 
Andernach by the Stadt Manheim ; but had not 
proceeded far up the Rhine, when suddenly — I 
do not know by what caprice, for ordinarily upon 
the lake of Constance the south-west winds, the 
Favonius of Virgil and of Horace, bring storms 
— the immense opaque cloud which pended over 
our heads, burst, and began to disperse itself in 
all directions. Shortly after, a blue vault ap- 
peared ; and bright warm rays caused the travel- 
ers to leave the cabin and hurry to the deck. 

At that moment we passed — with vines on the 
one side, and oaks on the other — an old and 
picturesque village on the right bank of the 
river. It was that of Velmich, above which rose, 
almost vertically, one of those enormous banks 
of lava that resemble the cupola in its immeasur- 
able proportions. Upon this volcanic mound 
stands the ruin of a superb feudal fortress. On 


The Mouse. 


135 


the borders of the river a group of young women, 
busily chatting, were bleaching their linen in the 
rays of the sun. 

This sight was too tempting. I could not 
pass without paying the ruin a visit ; for I knew 
that it was that of Velmich — the least esteemed 
and least frequented upon the Rhine. 

For the traveler, it is difficult to approach, 
and, some say, dangerous ; for the peasant, it 
abounds with spectres, and is the subject of 
frightful tales. It is infested with living flames, 
which hide themselves by day in subterraneous 
vaults, and at night become visible on the sum- 
mit of the round tower. This enormous turret 
is an immense pit, which descends far beneath 
the level of the Rhine. A Seigneur of Velmich, 
called Falkenstein, — a name fatal in the legends, 
threw into this aperture, unshriven, whomsoever 
he pleased : it is the troubled souls of those that 
were thus murdered who inhabit the castle. 
There were at that epoch, in the steeple of 
Velmich, a silver bell which was given by Wini- 
fred, Bishop of Mayenne, the year 740, — memor- 
able time, when Constantine the Sixth was em- 
peror of Rome. This bell was once rung for the 
prayers of forty hours, when a lord of Velmich 
was seriously ill. Falkenstein, who did not be- 
lieved in God, and who even doubted the exist- 
ence of the devil, being in want of money, cast 


136 


The Rhine. 


an envious look upon the handsome bell. He 
caused it to be taken from the church and 
brought to him. The prior of Velmich was much 
affected at the sacrilege, and went, in sacerdotal 
habiliments, preceded by two children of the 
choir bearing the cross, to demand the bell. 
Falkenstein burst into a fit of laughter, cry- 
ing— 

“Ah, ah ! you wish to have your bell, do you? 
Well, you shall have it; and I warrant it never 
will leave you more ! ” 

Thereupon, the bell was tied round the priest’s 
neck, and both were thrown into the pit of the 
tower. Then, upon the order of Falkenstein, 
large stones were thrown into the pit, filling up 
about six feet. A few days afterwards, Falk- 
enstein fell ill ; and when night came, the doctor 
and the astrologer, who were watching, heard 
with terror the knell of the silver bell coming 
from the depths of the earth. Next morning 
Falkenstein died. Since that time, as regularly 
as the years roll over, the silver bell is heard 
ringing under the mountains, reminding the in- 
habitants of the anniversary of the death of 
Falkenstein. So runs the legend. 

On the neighboring mountain — that on the 
other side of the torrent of Velmich — is the 
tomb of an ancient giant ; for the imagination 
of man — he who has seen volcanoes, the great 


The Mouse. 


137 


forges of nature — has put Cyclops wherever the 
mountains smoked, giving to every JEtna its 
Polyphemus. 

I began to ascend the ruins between the 
souvenir of Falkenstein and that of the giant. 
I must tell you that the best way was pointed 
out to me by the children of the village, for 
which service I allowed them to take some of 
the silver and copper coins of those people from 
my purse ; things the most fantastic, yet still the 
most intelligible in the world. 

The road is steep, but not at all dangerous, 
except to people subject to giddiness ; or, per- 
haps, after excessive rains, when the ground and 
rocks are slippery. One thing sure is, that this 
ruin has one advantage over others upon the 
Rhine — that of being less frequented. 

No officious person follows you in your ascent; 
no exhibitor of spectres asks you to “ remember 
him;” no rusty door stops you on your way: 
you climb, stride over the old ladder, hold on by 
tufts of grass ; no one helps, nor no one annoys 
you. At the expiration of twenty minutes I 
reached the summit of the hill, and stopped at 
the threshold of the ruin. Behind me was a 
steep ladder formed of green turf; before me, a 
lovely landscape ; at my feet, the village ; be- 
yong the village, the Rhine, crowned by sombre 


138 


The Rhine. 


mountains and old castles ; and round and above 
the mountains, a bright blue sky. 

Having taken breath, I began to ascend the 
steep staircase. At that instant the dismantled 
fortress appeared to me with such a tattered as- 
pect — an aspect so wild and formidable — that I 
should not have been the least surprised to have 
seen some supernatural form carrying flowers ; — 
for instance, Gela, the betrothed of Barberousse ; 
or Hildegarde, the wife of Charlemagne, that 
amiable empress, who was well acquainted with 
the occult virtues of herbs and minerals, and 
whose foot often trod the mountains when she 
was in search of medicinal plants. I looked for 
a moment towards the north wall, with a sort of 
vague desire to see start from the stones a host 
of hobgoblins, — which are “ all over the north,” 
as the gnome said to the Canon of Sayn, — or the 
three little old women, singing the legendary 
song,— 

“ Sur la tombe du g6ant 
J’ai cueilli trois bris d’orties: 

En fil les ai converties ; 

Prenez, ma soeur, ce present.” 

But I was forced to content myself without 
seeing or even hearing anything except the notes 
of a blackbird, perched upon some adjoining 
rock. 

I entered the ruins. The round tower, al- 
though the summit is partly dismantled, is of a 


The Mouse. 


139 


prodigious elevation. On all sides are immense 
walls with* shattered windows, rooms without 
doors or roofs, floors without stairs, and stairs 
without chambers. I have often admired the 
carefulness with which Solitude keeps, incloses, 
and defends that which man has once aban- 
doned. She barricades and thicksets the thresh- 
old with the strongest briers, the most stinging 
plants, nettles, brambles, thorns — showing more 
nails and talons than are in a menagerie of 
tigers. 

But Nature is beautiful even in her strangest 
freaks ; and the wild flowers — some in bud, 
others in blossom, and some garbed in au- 
tumnal foliage — present an entanglement at once 
startling and beautiful. On this side are blue- 
bells and scarlet berries ; on that are the haw- 
thorn, gentian, strawberry, thyme, and sloe-tree. 
To my right is a subterraneous passage, the roof 
falling in ; and to my left is a tower without any 
visible aperture. Secluded as this spot may 
seem, the cheerful voices of washerwomen on the 
Rhine are distinctly heard. I clambered from 
bush to bush, explored each aperture, and tried 
to penetrate each vault. 

I forgot to tell you that this huge ruin is 
called the Mouse. I will inform you how it re- 
ceived that appellation : 

In the twelfth century there was nothing here 


140 


The Rhine. 


but a small borough, which was watched, and 
often molested, by a strong castle called the Cat. 
Kuno de Falkenstein, who inherited this paltry 
borough, razed it to the ground, and built a 
castle much larger than the neighboring one ; 
declaring that, “ henceforth, it should be the 
Mouse that would devour the Cat.” 

He was right. The Mouse, in fact, although 
now in ruins, is a redoubtable godmother, with 
its haunches of lava and basalt, and entrails 
of extinguished volcano, which, with seeming 
haughtiness, support it. I do not think that 
any person has had occasion to laugh at that 
mountain which brought forth the Mouse. 

I wandered about the ruins ; first in one 
room, then in another ; admiring at one time 
a beautiful turret ; now descending into a 
cave, groping my way through some subter- 
raneous passage ; then finding myself looking 
through an aperture that commanded a view 
of the Rhine. 

The sun at last began to disappear, which 
is the time for spectres and phantoms. I was 
still in the ruins. Indeed, it seemed to me as 
if I had become a wild schoolboy. I wandered 
everywhere ; I climbed up every acclivity ; I 
turned over the large stones ; I ate wild mul- 
berries ; I tried by my noise to bring the su- 
pernatural inhabitants from their hiding-places; 


The Mouse . 


141 


and, as I trod among the thick grass and herbs, 
I inhaled that acerb odor of the plants of old 
ruins which I so much loved in my boyhood. 

As the sun descended behind the mountains, 
I thought of leaving, when I was startled by 
something strange moving by my side. I 
leaned forward. It was a lizard of an extra- 
ordinary size — about nine inches long, with 
an immense belly, a short tail, a head like 
that of a viper, and black as jet — which was 
gliding slowly towards an opening in an old 
wall. That was the mysterious and solitary 
inhabitant' of the ruin — an animal at the same 
time real and fabulous — a salamander, which 
looked at me with mildness as it entered its 
hole. 


142 


The Rhine. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE MOUSE. 

Colossal Profile. — The Duchy of M. de Nassau. — Country Sports : 
Their Punishment. — A Mountebank. 

I COULD not leave this ruin ; several times 
I began to descend, then reascended. Na-. 
ture, like a smiling mother, indulges us in our 
dreams and in our caprices. 

At length, when leaving the Mouse, the idea 
struck me to apply my ear to the basement 
of the large tower. I did so, trusting to hear 
some noise, yet scarcely flattering myself that 
Winifred’s bell would deign to awake itself for 
me. At that moment, — O wonder of wonders ! 
— I heard — yes, heard with mine own ears — a 
vague, metallic sound, an indistinct humming 
of a bell, gliding through the crepuscule. and, 
seemingly, coming from beneath the tower. I 
confess that this strange noise brought vividly 
to my memory the speech of Hamlet to Ho- 
ratio ; but suddenly I was recalled from the 
world of chimeras to that of reality. I soon 
discovered that it was the Ave Maria of some 
village floating with the evening breeze. It 
mattered not. All that I had to do was to 


The Mouse. 


143 


believe and say that I heard the mysterious 
bell of Velmich tinkling under the mountain. 

As I left the north moat, which is now a 
thorny ravine, the Giant’s Tomb suddenly pre- 
sented itself. From the point where I stood, 
the rock figures, at the base of the mountain, 
close to the Rhine, the colossal profile of a 
head, hanging backwards, with open mouth. 
One is ready to believe that the giant, who, 
according to the legend, lies there, crushed un- 
der the weight of the mountain, was about to 
raise the enormous mass, and that, on his head 
appearing between the rocks, an Apollo, or a 
St. Michael, put his foot upon the mountain, 
and crushed the monster, who expired in that 
posture, uttering a fearful shriek, which is lost 
in the darkness of forty ages ; but the mouth 
still remains open. 

I must declare, that neither the giant, the 
silver bell, nor the spectre of Falkenstein, pre- 
vents the vine and weeds mounting from ter- 
race to terrace near the Mouse. So much the 
worse for the phantoms of this country of the 
grape ; for the people do not hesitate to take 
the vine that clusters round their dismantled 
dwelling to procure themselves the wherewithal 
to make wine. 

But the stranger, even the most thirsty, must 
be cautious how he plucks the fruit, to him for- 


144 


The Rhine. 


bidden. At Velmich we are in the duchy of 
M. de Nassau, and the laws of Nassau are rigor- 
ous respecting such country sports. The delin- 
quent, if caught, is forced to pay a sum equiva- 
lent to the depredations or “ delights ” of all 
those who are lucky enough to escape. A short 
time ago an English tourist plucked and ate a 
plum, for which he had to pay fifty florins. 

Wishing to proceed to Saint Goar, which is 
upon the left bank, I inquired my way of the 
village mountebank, who gave me directions in 
a gibberish which, of course, I did not under- 
stand; for, instead of going by the road that 
runs by the river, I took that which leads to the 
mountain. After walking for a considerable 
time, I at length came in view of the Rhine ; 
when, through the fog, I saw a group of houses, 
with faint lights glimmering in the windows. It 
was St. Goar. 


Saint Goar . 


145 


CHAPTER XVII. 


SAINT GOAR. 


The Cat. — Its Interior— Fabulous Rock of Lurley. — The Swiss 
Valley. — The Fruit Girl. — The Reichenberg. — The Barbers* 
Village. — Legend. — The Rheinfels. — Oberwesel. — French 
Hussar. — A German Supper; 

WEEK might be very agreeably spent at 



XjL St. Goar, which is a neat little town lying 
between the Cat and the Mouse. To the left is 
the Mouse, half enveloped in the fog of the 
Rhine ; and to the right is the Cat, a huge 
dungeon, with the picturesque village of Saint 
Goarshausen, lying at its base. The two formid- 
able castles seem to be casting angry looks across 
the country, their dilapidated windows present- 
ing a most hideous aspect. In front, upon the 
right bank of the river, and apparently ready to 
incite the two adversaries, is the old colossal 
spectre palace of the Landgraves of Hesse. 

The Rhine at St. Goar, with its sombre em- 
bankments, its shadows, its rippling waters, re- 
sembles a lake of Jura more than it does a 
river. 

If we remain in the house, we have all day be- 
fore us a view of the Rhine, with rafts floating 


h6 


The Rhine . 




on its surface. Here sailing-vessels, there steam- 
boats, which, when passing, make a noise re- 
sembling that of a huge dog when swimming. 
In the distance on the opposite bank, under the 
shade of some beautiful walnut-trees, we see the 
soldiers of M. de Nassau, dressed in red coats 
and white trousers, performing their exercise, 
while the rolling of the drum of a petty duke 
strikes out ear. Under our windows, the women 
of St. Goar, with their sky-blue bonnets, pass to 
and fro; and we hear the prattling and laughing 
of children, who are diverting themselves on the 
river’s brink. 

If we go out we can get across the Rhine for 
six sous, the price of a Parisian omnibus; then 
amusing ourselves by paying a visit to the Cat, 
which is an interesting ruin. The interior is 
completely dismantled. The lower room of the 
tower is at present used as a storehouse. Several 
vine-trees twine themselves round it, and even 
grow upon the floor of the portait-gallery. In a 
small room, the only one that has a window and 
door, a picture representing Bohdan Chmielnicki 
is nailed to the wall, with two or three portraits 
of reigning princes hung round about it. 

From the height of the Cat the eye encounters 
the famed gulf of the Rhine, called the Bank. 
Between the Bank and the square tower of Saint 
Goarshausen there is only a narrow passage, the 


Ortade of Lurley. 


147 


gulf being on one side, and the rock on the other. 
A little beyond the Bank, in a wild and savage 
turning, the fabulous rock of Lurley, with its 
thousand granite seats, which give it the appear- 
ance of a falling ladder, descends into the Rhine. 
There is a celebrated echo here, that responds 
seven times to all that is said and all that is 
sung. If it were not to appear that I wished to 
detract from the celebrity of the echo, I would 
say that to me the repetition was never above 
five times. It is probable that the Oreade of 
Lurley, formerly courted by so many princes and 
mythological counts, begins to get hoarse and 
fatigued. The poor nymph has at present no 
more than one admirer who has made himself, 
on the opposite side of the Rhine, two chambers 
in the rocks, where he passes his days in playing 
the horn and in discharging his gun. The man 
who gives the echo so much employment, is an 
old brave French hussar. 

The effect of the echo of Lurley is truly ex- 
traordinary: a small boat, crossing the Rhine at 
this place, makes a tremendous noise ; and, 
should we shut our eyes, we might believe that 
it was a galley from Malta, with its fifty large 
oars, each moved by four galley-slaves. 

Before leaving Saint Goarshausen, we must go 
and see, in an old street which runs parallel with 
the Rhine, a charming little house of the Ger- 


1 48 


The Rhine. 


man Renaissance. Afterwards we turn to the 
right, cross a bridge, and enter, amidst the noise 
of a water-mill, the Swiss Valley, a superb ra- 
vine, almost Alpine, formed by the high hill of 
Petersberg, and by the brow of the Lurley. 

The Swiss Valley is certainly a delightful 
promenade. We ascend acclivities ; descend : 
we meet high villages; plunge into dark and nar- 
row passages, in one of which I saw the ground 
that had lately been torn up by the tusks of a wild 
boar; or we proceed along the bottom of the ra- 
vine, with rocks resembling the walls of Cyclops 
on each side. Then, if we draw towards the 
other road, which abounds with farms and mills, 
all that meet the eye seem arranged and grouped 
for Poussin to insert into a corner of his land- 
scape : — a shepherd, half naked, in a field with 
his flock, contentedly whistling some air; a cart 
drawn by oxen ; and pretty girls with bare feet. 
I saw one who was indeed charming ; she was 
seated near a fire, drying her fruit : she lifted up 
her large blue eyes towards heaven — eyes like 
diamonds, and countenance darkened by the 
heat of the sun. Her neck, which was partly 
covered by a collar, was marked with small-pox, 
and under her chin was a swelling. With that 
detraction, joined to such beauty, one might 
have taken her for an Indian idol, squatted near 
its altar. 


The Reichenberg. 


149 


We cross a meadow ; the hares of the ravine 
run here and there, and we suddenly behold, at 
the top of a hill, an admirable ruin. It is the 
Reichenberg, in which, during the wars @fA‘ man- 
ual rights,” in the middle age, one of the most 
redoubtable of those gentlemen bandits, who 
bore the epithet of “ the scourge of the coun- 
try,” lived. The neighboring village had cause 
for lamentation, the emperor had reason for sum- 
moning the brigand to his presence; but the man 
of iron, secure in his granite house, heeded him 
not, but continued his depredatious, his orgies of 
rapine and plunder, and lived excommunicated 
by the church, condemned by the Deity, tracked 
by the emperor, until his white beard descended 
to his stomach. I entered the Reichenberg. 
There is nothing in that cave of Homeric thieves 
but wild herbs: the windows are all dismantled, 
and cows are seen grazing round the ruins. 

Behind the hill of the Reichenberg are the 
ruins of a town, which has all but disappeared, 
and which bore the name of the “BARBERS’ VIL- 
LAGE.” The following is the account given of 
it : 

The Devil, wishing to avenge himself on Fred- 
erick Barberousse for his numerous crusades, 
took it into his head to have the beard of the 
crusader shaved. He made arrangements that 
the emperor Barberousse, when passing through 


The Rhine . 


150 


Bacharach, should fall asleep, and, when in that 
state, be shaved by one of the numerous barbers 
of the village. A tricky fairy, as small as a grass- 
hopper, went to a giant, and prayed him to lend 
her a sack. The giant consented, and even gra- 
ciously offered to accompany her, at which she 
expressed her extreme delight. The fairy, after 
walking by the side of such a huge creature, had, 
no doubt, swelled herself into a tolerable bulk, 
for, on arriving at Bacharach, she took the sleep- 
ing barbers, one by one, and placed them in the 
sack ; after which, she told the giant to put it 
upon his back, and to take it away — that it did 
not matter where it was placed. It being night, 
the giant did not perceive what the old woman 
had done ; he obeyed her, and strode off with his 
accustomed strides. The barbers of Bacharach, 
heaped one over another, awoke, and began to 
move in the sack. The giant, through fright, in- 
creased his pace. As he traversed the Reichen- 
berg, one of the barbers, who had his razor in 
his pocket, drew it out, and made so large a hole 
in the sack that all the barbers fell out, scream- 
ing frightfully. The giant, thunderstruck, im- 
agining that he had a nest of devils on his back, 
saved himself by tneans of his enormous legs. 
When the emperor arrived at Bacharach there 
was not a barber in the place ; and, on Beelze- 
bub coming to see the deed performed, a raven, 


The Rheinfels. 


I5i 


perched upon the gate of the town, said to his 
grace the Devil — 

“ My friend, in the middle of your face you 
have something so large that you could not see it 
even in a looking-glass — that is, un pied de nez .” 

Since that time there has been no barber at 
Bacharach ; and even to this day, it is impossible 
to find a shop belonging to one of the fraternity. 
As for those stolen by the fairies, they estab- 
lished themselves where they fell, and built a 
town upon the spot, which they called the “ Bar- 
bers’ Village.” Thus it is that the Emperor 
Frederick the First preserved his beard and his 
surname. 

Besides the Mouse, the Cat, the Lurley, the 
Swiss Valley, and the Reichenberg, there is also 
near St. Goar the once formidable castle that 
shook before Louis the Fourteenth, and crum- 
bled under Napoleon, — the Rheinfels. 

About a mile from St. Goar we perceive, at 
the side of two mountains, a handsome feudal 
town, with ancient streets, fourteen embattled 
towers, and two large churches of Gothic struc- 
ture. It is Oberwesel, a town of the Rhine, 
which was often the seat of war. Its old walls 
exhibit innumerable holes, the effects of the 
cannon-ball. At present, Oberwesel, like an old 
soldier, has become a vine-dresser. The red 
wine here is excellent. 


152 


The Rhine. 


Like all other towns upon the Rhine, Ober- 
wesel has near it a castle in ruins — Schoenberg ; 
where, in the tenth century, the seven laughing 
and cruel girls lived, who were turned, in the 
middle of the river, into seven rocks. 

The road from St. Goar to Oberwesel is full of 
attractions. It runs along the Rhine, which is at 
times hidden from our view by hawthorn-trees 
and willows. All here is still, all is tranquil, — 
save at intervals, when the pervading silence is 
broken by a silvery salmon leaping to catch its 
prey. 

In the evening, after we have taken one of 
those delightful walks which tend to open the 
deep caverns of the stomach, we return to St. 
Goar, and find, at the top of a long table, sur- 
rounded by smokers, an excellent German sup- 
per, with partridges larger than chickens. We 
recruit our strength marvelously; above all, if 
our appetite be so good as to permit us to over- 
look a few of the strange rencontres which often 
take place on the same plate — for instance, a 
roast duck with an apple pie, or the head of a 
wild boar with preserves. Just before the supper 
draws to a close, a flourish of a trumpet, ming- 
ling with the report of a gun, is suddenly heard. 
We hurry to the window. It is the French 
hussar, who is rousing from dormancy the echo 
of St. Goar, which is not less marvelous than 


Echo of St. Goar. 


153 


that of Lurley. Each gunshot is equal to the 
report of a cannon ; each blast of a trumpet 
is echoed with singular distinctness in the pro- 
found darkness of the valley. It is an exquisite 
symphony, which seems to be mocking while it 
pleases us. As it is impossible to believe that 
this huge mountain can produce such an effect, 
at the expiration of a few minutes we become 
dupes of illusion, and the most grave thinker 
is ready to swear that in those shades, under 
some fantastic thicket, dwells a solitary — a 
supernatural being — a sort of fairy — a Titania , 
who amuses herself by delicately parodying the 
music of mortals, and throwing down the half 
of a mountain every time she hears the report 
of a gun. The effect would be still greater if we 
could, for a short time, forget that we are at the 
window of an inn, and that that extraordinary 
sensation has served as an extra plate to dessert. 
But all passes away very naturally ; the per- 
formance over, a waiter belonging to the auberge 
enters, with a tin plate in his hand, which he pre- 
sents to the inmates. Then all is finished ; and 
each retires after having paid for his echo . 

7 * 


/ 


154 


The Rhine . 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


BACHARACH. 


Furstemberg, Sonnech, and Heimberg. — Europe. — A Happy 
Little World. — The Cemetery. 



HIS is one of the oldest, the prettiest, and 


the most unknown towns in the world. At 


my window are cages full of birds; from the roof 
of my room hangs an old-fashioned lantern ; and 
in the corner is a ray of the sun, imperceptibly 
but gradually advancing towards an old oak 


table. 


I remained three days at Bacharach, which is, 
without exception, the most antique group of 
human habitations that I have ever seen. One 
might imagine that some giant, a vender of brie- 
ci-bac , purposing to open a shop upon the Rhine, 
had taken a mountain for his counter, and 
placed, from the bottom to the top, with a giant 
taste, heaps of enormous curiosities. 

This old, fairy town, in which romance and 
legend abound, is peopled by inhabitants who 
— old and young, from the urchin to the grand- 
father, from the young girl to the old dame 
— have, in their cast of features and in their 
walk, something of the thirteenth century. 


Bacluxrach . 


155 


From the summit of the Schloss we have an 
immense view, and discover, in the embrasures 
of the mountain, five other castles in ruins; 
upon the left bank of the river, Furstemberg, 
Sonnech, and Heimberg; to the west, on the 
other side of the Rhine, Goutenfels, full of re- 
collections of Gustave Adolphe ; and, towards 
the -east, above the fabulous valley of Wisper- 
thall, the manor, where the inhospitable Sibo 
de Lorch refused to open the door to the 
Gnomes on stormy nights. 

At Bacharach a stranger is looked upon as a 
phenomenon. The traveler is followed with eyes 
expressive of bewilderment. In fact, no one, ex- 
cept it be a poor painter, plodding his way on 
foot, with a wallet upon his back, ever visits 
this antique capital— this town of melancholy. 

I must not, however, forget to mention that in 
the room adjoining mine hangs a picture pur- 
porting to represent Europe. Two lovely girls, 
their shoulders bare, and a handsome young 
fellow, are singing. The following stanza is un- 
derneath : 

‘‘Enchanting Europe! where all-smiling France 
Gives laws to fashion, graces to the dance ; 

Pleasure, fine arts, each sweet and lovely face, 

Form the chief worship of thy happy race.” 

Under my window was an entire little world, 
happy and charming — a kind of court, adjoining 


56 


The Rhine. 


a Roman church, which we could approach by a 
dilapidated stair. Three little boys and two 
little girls were playing among the grass, which 
reached their chins ; the girls every now and 
then fighting voluntarily with the boys. The 
ages of all five could not amount to more than 
fifty years. Beyond the long grass were trees 
loaded with fruit. In the midst of the leaves 
were two scare-crows, dressed like Lubins of the 
Comic Opera; and although, perhaps, they had 
the effect of frightening the birds, they failed to 
do that to the bergeronettes. In all corners of 
the garden were flowers glittering in the rays of 
the sun, and round these flowers were swarms of 
bees and butterflies. The bees hummed, the 
children chattered, the birds sang, and at a little 
distance were two doves billing. 

After having admired till night-fall this charm- 
ing little garden, I took a fancy to visit the ruin 
of the old church, which is . dedicated to St. 
Werner, who suffered martyrdom at Oberwesel. 
I reached the first flight of steps, which were 
covered with grass, looked round, admired the 
heavens, from which sufficient light came to en- 
able me to see the old palatine castle in ruins; 
then my eyes fell upon my charming garden of 
children, birds, doves, bees, butterflies, and music 
—my garden of life, of love, and of joy, — and I 
discovered that it was a cemetery. 


Lorch . 


157 


CHAPTER XIX. 


<< 


fire! fire!” 


Lorch. — An Incident. — Combat of the Hydra and Dragon.— 
The Hotel P at Lorch. 



HEN twelve strikes at Bacharach we go 


to bed — we shut our eyes — we try to 


dispel the thoughts of day — we come to that 
state when we have, at the same time, some- 
thing awake, and something asleep — when the 
fatigued body reposes, and when the wayward 
mind is still at labor. When thus, between 
the mind and body we are neither asleep nor 
awake, a noise suddenly disturbs the shades of 
night — an inexpressible, a singular noise, — a kind 
of faint murmuring — at once menacing and 
plaintive, which mingles with the night wind, 
and seems to come from the high cemetery 
situated above the village. You awake, jump 
up, and listen. What is that ? It is the watch- 
man blowing his trumpet to assure the in, 
habitants that all is well, and that they may 
sleep without fear. Be it so ; still, I think it im- 
possible to adopt a more frightful method. 

At Lorch a person might be awoke out of his 


i 5 8 


The Rhine. 


sleep in a manner still more dramatical ; but, my 
friend, let me first tell you what sort of a place 
Lorch is, 

Lorch, a large borough, containing about 
eighteen hundred inhabitants, is situated upon 
the right bank of the Rhine, and extends as far 
as the mouth of the Wisper. It is the valley of 
legends, — it is the country of fairies. Lorch 
is situated at the foot of the Devil’s Ladder, a 
high rock, almost perpendicular, which the val- 
iant Gilgen clambered when in search of his be- 
trothed, who was hidden by the gnomes on the 
summit of a mountain. It was at Lorch that the 
fairy Ave invented — so say the legends — the art 
of weaving, in order to clothe her lover Heppius. 
The first red wine of the Rhine was made here. 
Lorch existed before Charlemagne, and it has 
left a date in its charter as far back as 7 32. 
Henry the Third, Archbishop of Mayence, re- 
sided here in 1348. At present there are neither 
Roman cavaliers, nor fairies, nor archbishops; 
yet the little town is happy, the scenery is de- 
lightful, and the inhabitants are hospitable. The 
lovely house of the Renaissance, on the border of 
the Rhine, has a facade as original and as rich in 
its kind as that of the French manor of ,Meillan. 
The fortress, teeming with legends of old Sibo, 
protects, as it were, the borough from the his- 
torical castle of Furstemburg, which menaces it 


Lorch . 


159 


with its huge tower. There is nothing more 
charming than to see this smiling little colony of 
peasants prospering beneath those two frightful 
skeletons, which were once citadels. 

A week ago, perhaps it was about one in the 
morning, I was writing in my room, when sud- 
denly I perceived the paper under my pen 
become red, and, on lifting my eyes, I dis- 
covered that the light did not proceed from my 
lamp, but from my window, while a strange 
humming noise rose around me. I hastened to 
ascertain the cause. An immense volume of 
flame and smoke was issuing from the roof above 
my head, making a frightful noise. It was the 

hotel P , the house adjoining mine, which 

had taken fire. 

In an instant the inmates of the auberge were 
awake, all the village was astir, and the cry of 
“Fire! fire!” was heard in every street. I shut 
my window, and opened the door. The large 
wooden staircase of my hotel, which had two 
windows, almost touched the burning house, and 
seemed also to be in flames. From the top to 
the bottom of the stairs, a crowd of shadows, 
loaded with divers things, was seen pressing, 
jostling, and making way, with all possible speed, 
either to the top or to the bottom. It was the 
inmates of the auberge removing their effects,— 
one nearly naked, this one in drawers, that one 


1 60 


The Rhine. 


in his shirt ; they seemed scarcely awake. No 
one cried out — no one spoke. It was like the 
humming of an ant-hillock. 

As for me, — for each thinks of himself at such 
a time,' — I had little luggage. I lodged on the 
first floor, therefore ran no other risk than that 
of being forced to make my escape by the 
window. 

In the meanwhile, a storm arose, and the rain 
came down in torrents. As it always happens, 
the more haste the less speed. A moment of 
frightful confusion ensued ; some wished to 
enter, others to go out : drawers and tables, 
attached to ropes, were lowered from the win- 
dows ; and mattrasses, nightcaps, and bundles 
of linen, were thrown from the top of the house 
on to the pavement. Women were wringing 
their hands in despair, and children crying. 
Just as the fire gained the granary, the fire- 
engines arrived. It is almost impossible to give 
an idea of the rage with which the water at- 
tacked its enemy. No sooner had the pipes 
passed over the wall than a hissing sound was 
heard ; and the flames, on which a stream of 
molten steel seemed pouring, roared, became 
erect, leaped frightfully, opened horrible mouths, 
and with its innumerable tongues, licked at once 
all the doors and windows of the burning edifice. 
The vapor mingled with the smoke, volumes of 


Lorch . 


161 


which were dispersed with every breath of wind, 
and lost themselves, twisting and wreathing, in 
the darkness of the night, whilst the hissing of 
the water responded to the roaring of the fire. 
There is nothing more terrible and more grand 
than the awful combat of the hydre and dragon . 

The strength of the water forced up in col- 
umns by the engines was extraordinary ; the 
slates and bricks on which it alighted, broke and 
were scattered by its force. When the timber- 
works gave way the sight was grand. Amidst 
noise and smoke, myriads of sparks issued from 
the flames. For a few minutes a chimney-stack 
stood alone upon the house, like a kind of stone 
tower; but no sooner was the pipe pointed to- 
wards it than it fell heavily into the gulf. The 
Rhine, the villages, the mountains, the ruins — all 
the spectres of the country — were observable 
amidst the smoke, and flames, and storm. It 
was truly a frightful sight, yet it had something 
of sublimity in it. 

If looked at in detail, nothing more singular 
than to see, at intervals, amongst smoke and 
flame, heads of men appearing everywhere. 
These men were directing the water-pipes on 
the flames, which jumped, advanced, and re- 
ceded. Large blocks of wood-work were de- 
tached from the roof, and hung dangling by a 
nail, while others fell amidst noise and sparks. 


The Rhine. 


162 


In the interior of the apartments the decorated 
paper of the walls appeared and disappeared 
with every blast of the wind. There was upon 
the wall of the third floor a picture of Louis XV., 
surrounded with shepherds and shepherdesses. 
I watched this landscape with particular interest. 
For some time it withstood the fire; but at last 
one body of flame entered the room, stretched 
forth one of its tongues, and seized the land- 
scape ; — the females embraced the males ; Tircis 
cajoled Glyc&re; then all disappeared in smoke. 

A short distance from the auberge was a group 
of half-naked English with pale countenances, 
and looks expressive of bewilderment. They 
were standing by the goods which had been 
providentially saved. On their left was an as- 
semblage of all the children of the place, who 
laughed on seeing a block of wood precipitated 
into the burning element, and clapped theii 
hands every time the water-works happened to 
play amongst them. Such was the fire of the 
hotel P , at Lorch. 

A house on fire is at best a house burning; 
but, what is still more melancholy, a man lost 
his life at it, while in the act of doing good to 
others. 

About four o’clock in the morning the people 
became what is generally termed masters of the 
fire, and succeeded in confining the flames to the 


Lorch . 


163 


Hotel P , thus saving ours. A host of ser- 

vants, brushing, scraping, rubbing, and sponging, 
attacked the rooms, and in less than an hour our 
inn was washed from top to bottom. One thing 
is remarkable — nothing was stolen ! All the 
goods, removed in haste amidst the rain, in the 
dead of the night, were scrupulously carried 
back by the poor peasants of Lorch. 

Next morning I was surprised to see, on the 
ground-floor of the inn that was burnt, two or 
three rooms perfectly entire, which did not seem 
to be the least disordered by the fire that had 
raged above them. Apropos of this fact, the fol- 
lowing story passes current in this country. 

A few years ago an Englishman arrived some- 
what late at an inn at Braubach, supped, and 
went to bed. In the middle of the night the 
auberge took fire. The servants entered the 
apartment of the Englishman, and finding him 
asleep, awoke him, told him what happened, and 
that he must make all speed out of the house. 

“To the d — 1 with you! ” said the Englishman, 
not at all pleased with his nocturnal visitants. 
“You awake me for that! Leave me alone ; I 
am fatigued, and will not get up ! you seem to 
be a parcel of fools, to imagine that I am going 
to run through the fields in my shirt at such an 
hour as this! Nine hours is the amount of time 
that I allow for rest. Put out the fire the best 


164 


The Rhine. 


way you can ! As for me, I am very well in bed, 
where I intend to remain. Good night ! I will 
see you to-morrow.” 

No sooner had he said so than he turned his 
back upon the servants, and fell fast asleep. 
What was to be done ? The fire gained ground ; 
and the inmates, to save themselves, fled, after 
shutting the door upon the Englishman, who 
was soundly sleeping, and snoring tremendously. 
The fire was terrible, but at last was, with great 
difficulty, extinguished. Next morning, the men 
who were clearing the rubbish came to the cham- 
ber of the Englishman, opened the door, and 
found him in bed. On perceiving them he said, 
yawning — 

“Can you tell me if there is such a thing as a 
boot-hook in this house ? ” 

He rose, breakfasted heartily, and appeared 
quite refreshed — a circumstance greatly to the dis- 
pleasure of the lads of the place, who had made 
up their minds to make what is called in the 
valley of the Rhine a hourgmestre sec with the 
Englishman — that is a smoked corpse ; which 
they show to strangers for a few liards. 


Traveling o?i Foot. 


165 


CHAPTER XX. 


FROM LORCH TO BINGEN. 


Traveling on Foot; its Advantages and Pleasures. — The 
Strange Rencontre. — A Dangerous Spectator. — The Expli- 
cation. — Actors on a Holiday. — Marvelous Facts, and their 
Connection with the “ Holiday of a Managerie.” — Furstem- 
burg Castle. — The Three Brothers, Cadenet, Luynes, and 
Bradnes. — The Three Students. — Sublimity of Nature. — 
Ruin. — The Enigma. — Falkenburg Castle. — The Blooming 
Group. — Stella. — Gantrum and Liba. — Mausethurm. — Hatto 
and the Legend of the Rats. 



ORCH is about four French leagues from 


j > Bingen. You are well aware of my taste. 
Whenever an opportunity is offered, I never 
neglect converting my excursion into a prom- 
enade. 

Nothing to me is more pleasing than traveling 
on foot. We are free and joyous. No break- 
ing down of wheels, no contingencies attendant 
on carriages. We set out; stop when it suits us; 
breakfast at a farm or under a tree ; walk on, 
and dream while walking— for traveling cradles 
reverie, reverie veils fatigue, and the beauty of 
the country hides the length of the road. We 
are not traveling — we wander. Then we stop 
under the shade of a tree, by the side of a little 


The Rhine. 


1 66 


rivulet, whose rippling waters harmonize with the 
songs of the birds that load the branches over 
our heads. I saw with compassion a diligence 
pass before me, enveloped in dust, and contain- 
ing tired, screwed-up and fatigued passengers. 
Strange that those poor creatures, who are often 
persons of mind, should willingly consent to be 
shut up in a place where the harmony of the 
country sounds only in noise, the sun appears to 
them in clouds, and the roads in whirlwinds of 
dust. They are not aware of the flowers that 
are found in thickets, of the pearls that are 
picked up amongst pebbles, of the Houris that 
the fertile imagination discovers in landscapes ! — 
musa pedestris. Everything comes to the foot- 
passenger. Adventures are ever passing before 
his eyes. 

I remember being, some seven or eight years 
ago, at Claye, which is a few leagues from Paris. 
I will transcribe the lines which I found i-n my 
note-book, for they are connected with the story 
that I am going to relate. 

“A canal for a ground-floor, a cemetery for a 
first, and a few houses for a second — such is 
Claye. The cemetery forms a terrace over the 
canal ; thus affording the manes of the peasants 
of Claye a probable chance of being serenaded 
by the mail-packet which runs from Paris to 
Meaux.” 


A Dangerous Spectator. 


1 67 


I was returning to Paris on foot, and had set 
out early: the trees of the forest of Bondy 
tempted me to go by a road which had a sharp 
turning, where I seated myself — my back against 
an oak, my feet hanging over a ditch — and began 
to write in my green-book the note which you 
have just read. As I was finishing the fourth line 
I lifted my eyes, and perceived, not many yards 
from where I was, a bear, with its eye fixed upon 
me. In broad daylight we have no nightmares, 
nor can we be dupes enough to take the stump 
of a tree for something supernatural. At night, 
things may change in appearance ; but at noon, 
with a May sun over our heads, we have no such 
hallucinations. It was actually a bear — a liv- 
ing bear — a hideous looking animal, which was 
seated on its hind legs, with its fore paws crossed 
over its belly. One of its ears was torn, as also 
was its under-lip : it had only one eye, with 
which it looked at me attentively. There was 
no woodman at hand — all around me was silent 
and deserted. I must say that I felt a strange 
sensation. Sometimes, when chance brings us 
into contact with a strange dog, we manage to 
get over the difficulty by shouting out “ Fox,” 
“Solomon,” or“Asor;” but what could we say 
to a bear? Where did it come from? Why such 
a creature in the forest of Bondy, upon the high- 
way from Paris to Claye ? It was strange, un- 


The Rhine. 


1 68 


reasonable, and anything but pleasing. I moved 
not; I must also say that the bear did not move, 
a circumstance which appeared to me somewhat 
lucky. It looked at me as tenderly as a bear 
could well do with one eye ; it opened its mouth, 
not in ferocity, but yawningly. This bear had 
something of peace, of resignation, and of drow- 
siness ; and I found a likeness in its physiog- 
nomy to those old stagers that listen to trage- 
dies. In fact, its countenance pleased me so 
much that I resolved to put as good a face upon 
the matter as I could. I therefore accepted it 
for a spectator, and continued what I had begun. 
I then wrote the fifth line in my book ; which 
line is at a considerable distance from the fourth, 
for, on beginning it, I had my eyes fixed upon 
the eye of the bear. 

Whilst I was writing a large fly lighted on the 
bleeding ear of my spectator. It slowly lifted its 
right paw, and passed it leisurely over its ear, as 
a cat might do. The fly took to its wings ; the 
bear looked after it: then he seized his hind legs 
with his fore paws, and, as if satisfied with that 
classic attitude, began again to watch me. I 
admit that I observed his movements with no 
slight degree of interest. 

Just as I was about to begin the sixth line, I 
heard a sound of feet on the high road, and sud- 
denly I perceived another bear, a huge, black 


An Adventure. 


169 


animal, which had no sooner fixed its eyes upon 
the former than it ran up to it and rolled gra- 
ciously at its feet. The first was a she-bear, and 
did not deign to look upon the black one ; and 
fortunately the latter paid no attention to me. 

I confess that at this new apparition, which 
was somewhat perplexing, my hand trembled. I 
was then writing, “ Claye , a probable chance of 
being serenaded In my manuscript I see there 
is a great space between the words “ probable 
chance and “ of being serenaded That space 
signifies — “ a second bear ! ” 

Two bears! What did all this mean? Judg- 
ing from the direction the black one came, it was 
natural to imagine that it was from Paris ; a city 
little abounding with betes, at least of such sav 
age natures. 

I remained petrified — bewildered — with my 
eyes fixed upon the hideous animals, which be- 
gan to roll lovingly in the dust. I rose, and was 
making up my mind whether I should pick up 
my cane, which had fallen into the ditch, when 
another appeared, less Jn size, more deformed, 
and bleeding like the first ; then came a fourth, a 
fifth, and a sixth. The last four walked along 
the road like soldiers on the march. This was 
truly inexplicable. A moment afterwards I heard 
the shouting of men, mingling with the barking 
of dogs ; then I beheld ten or twelve bull-dogs, 
8 


i ;o 


The Rhine. 


and seven or eight men : the latter armed with 
large sticks, tipped with iron, and carrying muz- 
zles in their hands. One of them stopped, and, 
whilst the others collected and muzzled the ani- 
mals, he explained to me this strange enigma. 
The master of the Circus of the Barriere du 
Combat, profiting by the Easter devotions, was 
sending his bears and dogs to Meaux, where he 
intended giving a few exhibitions. All these an- 
imals traveled on foot, and had been unmuzzled 
at the last stage, to afford them an opportunity 
of eating by the roadside. Whilst the keepers 
were comfortably seated in a neighboring cabaret , 
the bears, finding themselves alone, joyous of 
liberty, stole a march upon their masters. 

Such was one of the adventures of my pe- 
destrian excursions — the rencontre of “ actors ” 
on a half-holiday. 

Dante, in the commencement of his poem, 
states that he met orte day a panther in a wood ; 
after which, a lion ; then a bear. If we give 
credit to tradition, the Seven Wise Men of 
Greece had similar adventures. Thales, of Milet, 
was, for a long time, followed by a griffon ; Bias 
de Priene walked side by side with a lynx; 
Solon, of Athens, bravely confronted a mad bull ; 
Cleobulus, of Rhodes, met a lion ; and Chilo, of 
Macedonia, a lioness. All these marvelous facts, 
if properly examined, might be found to have 


From Lorch to Bingen. 17 1 


some connection with the “holiday” of a 
menagerie. If I had related my story of the 
bears in a manner more redounding to my valor, 
perhaps in a few hundred years I should have 
passed for a second Orpheus. Dictus ob hoc 
lenire tigres. You perceive, my friend, that poor 
“ acting ” bears give rise to many prodigies. 
Without offense to the ancient poets or Greek 
philosophers, I must confess that, to me, a 
strophe would be but a feeble weapon against a 
leopard, or the power of a syllogism against a 
hyena. Man has found the secret of degrading 
the lion and the tiger — of adding stupidity to 
ferocity. Perhaps it is well: for, had it not 
been so, I should have been devoured ; and the 
Seven Wise Men of Greece would have shared 
the same fate. 

Since my boyhood I have always derived ex- 
treme delight from traveling on foot, for in many 
of my pedestrian trips I have met with adven- 
tures which have left a pleasing impression be- 
hind. 

The other day, about half-past five in the 
xnorning, after having given orders for my lug- 
gage to be transported to Bingen, I left Lorch, 
and took a boat to convey me to the other side 
of the river. If you should ever be here, do the 
same. The Roman and Gothic ruins of the 
right bank are much more interesting to the 


172 


The Rhine . 


traveler than the slate-roofed houses of the left. 
At six I was seated, after a somewhat difficult 
ascent, upon the summit of a heap of extin- 
guished lava, which overlooks Furstemburg 
Castle and the valley of Diebach. After view- 
ing the old castle, which in 1321, 1632, and 1689, 
was the seat of European struggles, I de- 
scended. I left the village, and was walking 
joyously along, when I met three painters, with 
whom I exchanged a friendly “ good day.” 
Every time that I see three young men traveling 
on foot, whose shining eye-balls reflect the fairy- 
land of the future, I cannot prevent myself from 
wishing that their chimeras may be realized, 
and from thinking of the three brothers, Cade- 
net, Luynes, and Brandes, who, two hundred 
years ago, set out one beautiful morning for the 
court of Henry IV., having amongst them only 
one mantle, which each wore in turn. Fifteen 
years afterwards, under Louis XIII., one of 
them became Duke of Chaulnes ; the second, 
Constable of France; and the third, Duke of 
Luxembourg! Dream on, then, young men — 
persevere ! 

Traveling by threes seems to be the fashion 
upon the borders of the Rhine, for I had scarcely 
reached Neiderheimbach when I met three more 
walking together. 

They were evidently students of some of those 


Neiderhcimbach. 


*73 


noble universities which tend so much to civilize 
Germany. They wore classic caps, had long 
hair, tight frock-coats, sticks in their hands, 
pipes in their mouths, and, like painters/wallets 
on their backs. They appeared to be conversing 
with warmth, and were apparently going to 
Bacharach. In passing, one of them cried out, 
on saluting me — 

u Die nobis domine , in qua parte corporis animam 
veteres locant philosophi ? " 

I returned the salutation, and replied, “Az corde 
Piato , in sanquine Empedocles , inter duo supercilia 
Lucretius 

The three young men smiled, and the eldest 
shouted — “ Vivat Gallia re gin a ! " I replied, 
“ Vivat Germania mater!" We then saluted 
each other, and passed on. 

Above Neiderheimbach is the sombre forest 
of Sann, where, hid among trees, are two 
fortresses in ruins ; the one, that of Heimburg, 
a Roman castle; the other, Sonneck, once the 
abode of brigands. The Emperor demolished 
Sonneck in 1212; time has since crumbled Heim- 
burg. A ruin still more awe-striking is hid 
among the mountains — it is called Falkenburg. 

I had, as I have already stated, left the village 
behind me. An ardent sun was above, but the 
fresh breeze from the river cooled the air around. 
To my right, between two rocks, was the narrow 


74 


The Rhine. 


entry of a charming ravine, abounding with 
shadows. Swarms of little birds were chirping 
joyously, and in love chasing each other amongst 
the leaves; a streamlet, swollen by the rains, 
dashed, torrent-like, over the herbage, frightened 
the insects, and, when falling from stone to stone, 
formed little cascades among the pebbles. I dis- 
covered along this stream, in the darkness which 
the trees shed around, a road, that a thousand 
wild flowers-^the water-lily, the amaranth, the 
everlasting, the iris — hide from the profane and 
deck for the poet. There are moments when I 
almost believe in the intelligence of inanimate 
things: it appeared to me as if I heard a thou- 
sand voices exclaim — 

“Where goest thou? Seekest thou places 
untrod by human foot, but where Divinity has 
left its trace? Thou wishest thy soul to com- 
mune with solitude ; thou wishest light and 
shadow, murmurings and peace, changes and 
serenity; thou wishest the place where the Word 
is heard in silence, where thou seest life on the 
surface and eternity at the bottom ; thou lovest 
the desert ; thou hatest not man ; thou seekest 
the greensward, the moss, the humid leaves, tall 
branches, birds which warble, running waters, 
perfume mingling with the air. Well, enter: 
this is thy way. It required no considera- 
tion. I entered the ravine. 


Sublimity of Nature. 


T 75 


To tell you all that I did there, or, rather, 
what solitude did for me— how the wasps buzzed 
round the violets, how the wings of birds rustled 
among the leaves— that which startled in the 
moss, that which chirped in the nest, the soft and 
indistinct sound of vegetation, the beauty of the 
bull-fly, the activity of the bee, the patience of 
the spider, the opening of flowers, the lamenta- 
tions, the distant cries, the struggling of insect 
with insect, the exhalations of the rocks, which, 
sighingly, reached the ear — the rays of Heaven, 
w r hich pierced through the trees, — the drops of 
water that fell, like tears, from flowers — the half 
revelations which came from the calm, harmo- 
nious, slow, and continued labor of all those 
creatures and of all those things which are more 
in connection with God than with man ; — to tell 
you all that, my friend, would be to express the 
ineffable, to show the invisible, to paint infinity! 
What did I do there ? I no longer know. As in 
ihe ravine of Saint Goarshausen, I wandered, ru- 
minated : and, in adoring, prayed ! What was I 
thinking of? Do not ask me. There are mo- 
ments when our thoughts float as drowned in a 
thousand confused ideas. 

I at last reached — I do not know how — the 
summit of a very high hill, covered with short 
broom. In all my excursions upon the banks of 
the Rhine, I saw nothing so beautiful. As far as 


1 76 


The Rhine. 


the eye could reach were prairies, waters, and 
magic forests resembling bunches of green feath- 
ers. It was one of those places where we im- 
agine we see the tail of that magnificent peacock 
which we call Nature. 

Behind the hill on which I was seated, on the 
summit of a mount covered with fir and chestnut 
trees, I perceived a sombre ruin, a colossal heap 
of brown basalt, in the form of a citadel. What 
castle was it? I could not tell, for I did not 
know where I was. To examine a ruin at hand- 
is my manie ; therefore, at the expiration of a 
quarter of an hour, I was wandering through it, 
searching, foraging, and turning over huge stones, 
with the hope of finding an inscription which 
would throw some light upon this venerable 
ruin. 

On leaving the lower chamber, the corner of a 
stone, one end buried in the rubbish, struck my 
view. I immediately stooped, and with my hands 
and feet cleared everything away, under the im- 
pression of finding upon it the name of this mys- 
terious ruin. On this large block of stone, the 
figure of a man, clothed in armor, but without a 
head, was sculptured, and under his feet were the 
following lines : 

“Vox Tacvit periit lux. Nox rvit et rvit vmbra vir 

CARET IN TVMBA QVO CARET EFFIGIES.” 

I was still in ignorance. This castle was an 


The Statue. 


177 


enigma. I had sought for words. I had found 
them : that is, an inscription without a date — an 
epitaph without a name — a statue without a 
head. While buried in reflection, a distinct 
sound of voices reached me. I listened. It was 
a quick dialogue, a few words only of which I 
could distinguish amid the shouts of laughter 
and of joy. These were — “ Fall of the mountain 
— Subterranean passage — Very bad footpath .” On 
rising from the tombstone, I beheld three young 
girls, clothed in white, with fair faces, smiling 
cheeks, and bright blue eyes. Nothing could be 
more magical, more charming, for a reveur , so 
situated, than this apparition. It would have 
been pardonable for a poet to have taken them 
for angels, or saints of Heaven ; I must affirm 
that, to me, they were three English girls. 

It suddenly crossed my mind that by profit- 
ing by these angels I might find, without further 
trouble, the name of the castle. They spoke 
English ; therefore, I concluded that they be- 
longed to that country. To give me counte- 
nance, I opened my portfolio, called to my aid 
the little English of which I was master, then 
began to look into the ravine, murmuring to my- 
self — “ Beautiful view ! Very fine ! Very pretty 
waterfall ! ” &c., &c. 

The young girls, surprised at my sudden ap- 
pearance, began, while stifling their laughs, to 
6 * 


i 7 8 


The Rhine. 


whisper to each other. They looked charming, 
but were evidently laughing at me. I sum- 
moned up courage, advanced a few steps towards 
the blooming group, which remained stationary, 
and saluting, with my most gracious air, the 
eldest of the three, uttered — 

“ What, if you please, is the name of this 
castle ? ” 

The sweet girl smiled, looked at her two 
companions, and, slightly blushing, replied in 
French — 

“I believe, Sir, it is called Falkenburg. At 
least, a French gentleman, who is now speaking 
with my father in the Grand Tower, said so. If 
you will take the trouble to go round that way, 
Sir, you will meet them.” These words, so much 
to the point, and spoken with a pure French 
accent, sufficed to convince me of my mistake ; 
but the charming creature took the trouble of 
adding — 

“We are not English, Sir; we are French; 
and you are from France ! ” 

“ How do you know, Miss,” I replied, “ that I 
am a Frenchman ? ” 

“ By your English,” the youngest replied. 

The eldest sister looked at her with an air of 
severity — that is, if beauty, grace, youth, inno- 
cence, and joy, can have a severe air. For my 
part, I burst into a fit of laughter. 


The Statue. 


179 


“But, young ladies,” I said, “you, yourselves, 
were speaking English a few minutes ago.” 

“ It was only for amusement,” the younger 
replied. 

“ For exercise,” said the other chidingly. 

This flat and motherly rectification was lost 
upon the young girl, who ran gayly to the tomb- 
stone, raising slightly her gown, on account of 
the stones, and displaying the prettiest foot 
imaginable. “ Oh ! ” she cried, “ come and see 
this. It is a statue — it has no head — it is a 
man ! ” 

The other two joined their sister ; and a 
minute afterwards all three were upon the tomb, 
the sun reflecting their handsome profiles upon 
the granite spectre. A few minutes ago, I was 
asking myself the names of these young girls ; 
and I cannot tell you what I felt when seeing, 
thus together, these two mysteries, the one full 
of horror, the other full of charms. 

By listening to their soft whisperings, I dis- 
covered the name of the second. She was the 
prettiest — a true princess for fairy tales. Her 
long eyelashes half hid the bright apple of her 
eye, that the pure light penetrated. She was 
between her younger and her elder sister, as 
pitdeur between naivete and grace, bearing a 
faint resemblance to both. She looked at me 
twice, but spoke not; she was the only one of 


i8o 


The Rhine. 


the three whose voice I had not heard, and the 
only one whose name I knew. At one time her 
younger sister said to her — “ Look, Stella ! ” I 
at no former period so well understood all that 
is limpid, luminous, and charming in that 
name. 

The youngest made these reflections in an 
audible voice : — “ Poor man ! they have cut his 
head off. It was then the time when they took 
off the heads of men ! ” Then she exclaimed — 
“O! here’s the epitaph. It is Latin: ‘Vox 
TACUIT PERIIT LUX.’ It is difficult to read. I 
should like to know what it says.” 

“ Let us go for father,” said the eldest ; “ he 
will explain it to us.” Thereupon all three 
bounded away like fawns. They did not even 
deign to ask me ; and I was somewhat humbled 
on thinking tha,t my English had given them a 
bad opinion of my Latin. I took a pencil, and 
wrote beneath the inscription the following 
translation of the distich : 

Dans la nuit la voix se tue, 

L’ombre 6teignit le flambleau. 

Ce qui manque a la statue 
Manque a l’homme en son tombeau. 

Jus, ^ l was finishing the last line I heard the 
young girls shouting — “This way, father — this 
way ! ” I made my escape, however, before they 
appeared. Did they see the explanation that I 


Falkenburg. 


1 8 1 


had left them ? I do not know. I hastened to 
a different part of the ruin, and saw them no 
more. Neither did . I hear anything further of 
the mysterious decapitated chevalier. Sad des- 
tiny! What crimes had that miserable man com- 
mitted ? Man had bereft him of life ; Providence 
had added to that forgetfulness. - His statue was 
deprived of a head, his name is lost to legends, 
and his history is no longer in the memory of 
man ! His tombstone, also, will soon disappear. 
Some vine-dressers of Sonneck, or of Rupperts- 
berg, will take it, and trample upon the muti- 
lated skeleton that it perhaps still covers, break 
the stone in two, and make a seat of it, on which 
peasants will sit, old women knit, and children 
play. In our days, both in Germany and France, 
ruins are of utility ; with old palaces new huts 
are constructed. 

But, my friend, allow me to return to Falken- 
burg. It is enough for me, in this nest of le- 
gends, to speak of this old tower, still erect and 
proud, though its interior be dilapidated. If you 
do not know the adventures that transpired here 
— the legends that abound respecting this place 
— a recital of a few of them may amuse you. 
One in particular, — that of Gantram and Liba, — 
starts fresh in my memory. It was upon this 
bridge that Gantram and Liba met two men car- 
rying a coffin ; and on this stair that Liba threw 


1 82 


The Rhine . 


herself into her lover’s arms, saying smilingly, — 
“ A coffin ! No, it is the nuptial bed that you 
have seen ! ” It was in this court, at present 
filled with hemlock, in flower, that Gantram, 
when conducting his bride to the altar, saw — to 
him alone visible — a man clothed in black, and a 
woman with a veil over her face, walking before 
him. It was in this Roman chapel, now crumb- 
ling, where living lizards now creep upon those 
that are sculptured, that, when Gantram was put- 
ting the wedding-ring upon the taper finger of 
his bride, he suddenly felt the cold grasp of an 
unknown hand — it was that of the maiden of the 
castle, who, while she combed her hair, had sung, 
the night long, near an open and empty grave. 

I remained several hours in these ruins — a 
thousand ideas crowded upon me. Spiritus loci ! 
My next chapter may contain them. Hunger also 
came ; but, thanks to the French deer that a fair 
voyageuse whom I met spoke to me about, I was 
enabled to reach a village on the borders of the 
Rhine, which is, I believe, called Trecktlings- 
hausen — the ancient Trajani Castrum. 

All that is here in the shape of an auberge is a 
taverne a bilre ; and all that I found for dinner 
was a tough leg of mutton, which a student, who 
was smoking his pipe at the door, tried to dis- 
suade me from eating, by saying that a hungry 
Englishman, who had been an hour before me. 


Mausethurm.. 


183 


had tried to masticate it, but had left off in dis- 
gust. I did not reply haughtily, as Marshal de 
Crequi did before the fortress of Gayi — “ What 
Barberousse cannot take, Barbegrise will take 
but I ate of the leg of mutton. 

I set out as the sun was declining, and soon 
left the Gothic chapel of St. Clement behind me. 
My road lay along the base of several mountains, 
on the summits of which were situated three cas- 
tles — Reichenstein, Rheinstein (both of which 
were demolished by Rodolph of Habsburg, and 
rebuilt by the Count Palatine, and Vaugtsberg, 
inhabited in 1348 by Kuno of Falkenstein, and 
repaired by Prince Frederick of Prussia). My 
thoughts turned upon a ruin that I knew' lay be- 
tween the place where I was and Bingen — a 
strange, unsightly ruin, which, between the con- 
flux of the Nahue and the Rhine, stands erect in 
the middle of the river. 

I remember from childhood a picture that 
some German servant had hung above my bed : 
it represented an old, isolated, dilapidated tower, 
surrounded with water; the heavens above it 
w ere dark, and covered with heavy clouds. In 
the evenings, after having offered up my prayers 
to God, and before reposing, I looked attentively 
at the picture. In the dead of the night I saw 
it in my dreams, and then it was terrible. The 
tower became enormous, the lightning flashed 


The Rhine. 


184 


from the clouds, the waters roared, the wind 
whistled among the mountains, and seemed 
every moment as if to pluck them from their 
base. One day I asked the servant the name of 
the tower, and she replied, making the sign of 
the cross upon her forehead — “ Mausethurm.” 
Afterwards she told me the following story : 

‘‘At one time there lived at Mayence a cruel 
archbishop named Hatto — a miserly priest — who, 
she said, was “ readier to open his hand to bless, 
than to bestow in charity.” That one bad har- 
vest he purchased all the corn, in order to sell it 
again at a high price ; money was the sole desire 
of this wicked priest. That at length famine 
became so great that the peasants in the villages 
of the Rhine were dying of hunger — that the 
people assembled in the town of Mayence, weep- 
ing, and demanding bread — and that the arch- 
bishop refused to give them any. The starving 
people did not disperse, but surrounded the pal- 
ace, uttering frightful groans. Hatto, annoyed 
by the cries of starvation, caused his archers 
to seize the men and women, old and young, 
and to shut them up in a granary, to which 
he set fire. “ It was,” added the old woman, 
“ a spectacle that might have caused the stones 
to weep.” Hatto did nothing but laugh, and as 
the wretched sufferers were screaming in agony, 
and were expiring in the flames, he exclaimed : 


Hatto and the Rats. 


185 


“ Do you hear the squeaking of the rats? ” 

The next day the fatal granary was in ashes, 
and there were no longer any inhabitants in 
Mayence. The town seemed dead and deserted ; 
when suddenly a swarm of rats sprang — like the 
worms in the ulcers of Assuerus — from the ashes 
of the granary, coming from under the ground, 
appearing in every crevice, swarming the streets, 
the citadel, the palace, the caves, the chambers, 
and the alcoves. It was a scourge, an affliction, 
a hideous f our mille went. Hatto, in despair, 
quitted Mayence, and fled to the plains, but 
the rats followed him ; he shut himself up in 
Bingen, which was surrounded by walls, but the 
rats gained access by creeping under them. 
Then the despairing bishop caused a tower to 
be erected in the middle of the Rhine, and took 
refuge in it ; the rats swam over, climbed up the 
tower, gnawed the doors and windows, the walls 
and ceilings, and, at last, reaching the palace, 
where the miserable archbishop was hid, de- 
voured him. At present the malediction of 
Heaven and of man is upon this tower, which 
is called Mausethurm. It is deserted — it is 
crumbling into ruins in the middle of the 
stream ; and sometimes at night a strange red 
vapor is seen issuing from it resembling the 
smoke of a furnace : — it is the soul of Hatto, 
which hovers round the place. 


The RJmie. 


1 86 


There is one thing remarkable. History, oc- 
casionally, is immoral ; but legends are always 
moral, and tend to virtue. In history the 
powerful prosper, tyrants reign, the wicked con- 
duct themselves with propriety, and monsters 
do well ; a Sylla is transformed into an honor- 
able man ; a Louis the Eleventh and a Cromwell 
die in their beds. In tales, Hell is always visible. 
There is not a fault that has not its punishment — 
not a crime, which leads not to inquietude — 
no wicked men but those who become wretched. 
Man, who is the inventor of fiction, feels that he 
has no right to make statements and leave to 
vague supposition their consequences ; for he is 
grouping in darkness — is sure of nothing ; he re- 
quires instruction and counsel, and dares not 
relate events without drawing immediate conclu- 
sions. God, who is the originator of history, 
shows what he chooses, and knows the rest. 

Mausethurm is a convenient word, for we may 
find in it whatever we desire. There are in- 
dividuals who believe themselves capable of 
judging of everything, who chase poesy from 
everything, and who say, as the man did to the 
nightingale — “Stupid beast! won’t you cease to 
make that noise.” These people affirm that the 
word Mausethurm is derived from mans or 
mauth, which signifies “ custom-house ; that in 
the tenth century, before the bed of the river 


The Rat Tower. 


87 


’was enlarged, the Rhine had only one passage, 
and that the authorities of Bingen levied, by 
means of this tower, a duty upon all vessels that 
passed. For these grave thinkers — these wise- 
acres — the cursed tower was a douane , and Hatto 
was a custorfi-house officer. 

According to the old women, with whom I 
freely associated, Mausethurm is derived from 
mans , or mus> which signifies a rat. The pre- 
tended custom-house is the Rat Tower, and its 
toll-keeper a spectre. 

After all, these two opinions may be recon- 
ciled. It is not altogether improbable, that 
towards the sixteenth and seventeenth century, 
after Luther, after Erasmus, several burgomssters 
of nerve made use of the tower of Hatto for a 
custom-house. Why not? Rome made a cus- 
tom-house of the temple of Antonius, the 
dogana. What Rome did to History, Bingen 
might well do to Legend. 

In that case Mauth might be right, and Mause 
not be wrong. 

Let that be as it may, one thing is certain — 
that since the old servant told me the story of 
Hatto, Mausethurm has always been one of the 
familiar visions of my mind. You are aware 
that there are no men without their phantoms, 
as there are none without their whims. 

Night is the time of dreams; at one time a 


The Rhine. 


1 88 


ray of light appears, then a flame of fire ; and, 
according to the reflection, the same dream may 
be a celestial glory, or an apparition of hell. 

I must admit that the Rat Tower, in the 
middle of its agitated waters, never appeared to 
me but with a horrible aspect. Also — shall I 
avow it ? — when chance, by whose fantasy I was 
led, brought me to the banks of the Rhine, the 
first thought that struck me was, not that I 
should see the dome of Mayence, or the Cathe- 
dral of Cologne, or the Poalz, but that I should 
see the Rat Tower. 

Judge then of my feelings, poor believing poet 
and infatuated antiquary that I am ! Twilight 
slowly succeeded day ; the hills became sombre, 
the trees dark, and a few stars twinkled in the 
heavens. I walked on, my eyes fixed on ob- 
scurity ; I felt that I was approaching Mause- 
thurm, and that in a few minutes that redoubt- 
able ruin, which to me had, up to this day, been 
only a dream, was about to become a reality. 

I came to a turn in the road, and suddenly 
stopped. At my feet was the Rhine, running 
rapidly and murmuring among the bushes ; to 
my right and left, mountains, or rather huge 
dark heaps, whose summits were lost in a sky 
in which a star was scarcely to be seen ; at the 
base, for the horizon, an immense curtain of 
darkness; in the middle of the flood, in the dis- 


Mausethurm. 


189 


tance, stood a large black tower, of a strange 
form, from which a singular red light issued, re- 
sembling the vapor of a furnace, casting a glare 
upon the surrounding mountains, showing a 
mournful-looking ruin on the left bank, and re- 
flecting itself fantastically on the waters. There 
was no human voice to be heard ; no, not even 
the chirping of a bird. All was solitude — a fear- 
ful, and sad silence, troubled only by the monot- 
onous murmurings of the Rhine. 

My eyes were fixed upon Mausethurm. I 
could not imagine it more frightful than it ap- 
peared. All was there — night, clouds, moun- 
tains; the quivering of the reeds; the noise of 
the flood, full of secret horror, like the roaring of 
hydras under water; the sad and faint blasts of 
wind ; the shadows, abandonment, isolation ; all, 
even to the vapor of the furnace upon the tower 
— the soul of Hatto ! 

An idea crossed my mind, perhaps the most 
simple, but which at that moment produced a 
giddiness in my head. I wished at that hour, 
without waiting till next day, or till daylight, to 
go to the ruin. The apparition was before my 
eyes, the night was dark, the phantom of the 
archbishop was upon the tower. It was the time 
to visit Mausethurm. 

But how could I do it ? where could I find a 
boat in such a place? To swim across the Rhine 


The Rhine . 


190 


would be to evince too great a taste for spectres. 
Moreover, had I imagined myself a good 
swimmer, and been fool enough for such an 
act, the redoubtable gulf of Bingerloch, which 
formerly swallowed up boats as sea-dogs swallow 
herrings, and which is at this identical spot, 
would have effectually deterred me. - I was 
somewhat embarrassed. 

Continuing my way towards the ruin, I re- 
member that the tinkling of the silver bell and 
the spectres of the dungeon of Velmich did not 
prevent the peasants from propping the vine 
and exploring the ruins ; I concluded that near 
a gulf, where fish necessarily abound, I should 
probably meet with the cabin of some fisherman. 
When vine-dressers brave Falkenstein and his 
Mouse, fishermen might well dare Hatto and 
his Rats. 

I was not deceived. I continued, however, 
walking for some time before I met anything ; 
but at length reached a point of the bank where 
the Nahue joins the Rhine. I began to give 
up all hopes of meeting a waterman, but on 
descending towards some osiers, I descried a 
boat of a strange construction, in which a man, 
enveloped in a covering, was sleeping. I went 
into the boat, awoke the man, and pointed to 
the tower; but he did not understand me. I 
then showed him one of the large Saxony 


Mausethurm. 


191 


crowns, which are of the value of six francs 
each: he understood me immediately; and a 
few minutes afterwards, without exchanging a 
word, we, spectre-like, were gliding towards 
Mausethurm. 

When in the middle of the flood, it seemed to 
me as if the tower diminished in size, instead of 
increasing. 

It was the Rhine which made it appear less. 
As I had taken the boat at a place which was 
higher up than Mausethurm, we descended the 
river, advancing rapidly. My eyes were fixed 
upon the tower, from the summit of which the 
vague light was still issuing, and which, at each 
stroke of the oar, I saw distinctly increasing. 
Suddenly I felt the bark sinking under me, as 
if we were in a whirlpool, and the jerk caused 
my stick to roll at my feet. I looked at my 
companion, who, returning my gaze with a 
sinister smile, which, seen by the supernatural 
light of Mausethurm, had something frightful 
in it, said “ Bingerloch.” We were upon the 
gulf. The boat turned. The man rose, seized 
the anchor with one hand and a cord with the 
other, plunged the former into the surge, leaped 
on the gunwale, and began to walk upon it. 
This manoeuvre was accomplished with admir- 
able dexterity and marvelous sang-froid. 

We landed. I raised my eyes. A short dis- 


192 


The Rhine . 


tance from where I stood, on a little island not 
observable from the land, was Mausethurm, an 
enormous formidable castle, dilapidated and in 
fragments, as if gnawed by the frightful rats of 
the legend. 

The faint light that I observed was a red 
flame which shed rays along the mountains, 
giving to every crevice the appearance of the 
mouth of an enormous lantern. It also seemed 
to me as if I heard in that fatal edifice, a strange 
continued noise — a sort of gnawing sound. 

I looked at the waterman, told him to wait my 
return, and walked towards the ruin. 

It was truly the tower of Hatto — the place of 
rats. Mausethurm was before my eyes, and I 
was about to enter. In directing my steps to- 
wards a low door in the facade, through which 
the wind from the river was whistling, I was 
startled by some black living creature, which ran 
rapidly by my feet. It appeared to me to be 
a huge rat running towards the reeds. On 
reaching the door, I ventured to look into the 
room, from which the strange gnawing sound 
and the extraordinary glare of light still came. 
I will tell you what I saw : 

I11 an angle opposite the door were two men 
with their backs turned to me. One was in a 
stooping posture, and the other seated upon a 
kind of iron vise, which a person of discernment 


Mausethurm . 


*93 


might have taken for an instrument of torture. 
Their feet and arms were naked, their clothes 
tattered, and each wore a leathern apron. One 
was old — his grey hair testified it ; the other was 
young — I saw his fair locks, which, from the re- 
flection of a large, lighted furnace in the oppo- 
site angle, appeared red. The old man wore, 
like the Guelphs, his cowl inclined to the right ; 
and the young one, like the Gibelins, had his 
upon the left side. But they were neither Gib- 
elins nor Guelphs, demons nor spectres. Two 
blacksmiths were before me. The light — the soul 
of Hatto, changed by Hell into a living flame — 
was the fire and smoke of the chimney ! the 
gnawing sound, the sound of files! 

The two blacksmiths were worthy individuals. 
They showed me the ruins; pointed out the 
place in which Hatto had taken shelter; and 
then lent me a lantern, with which I ranged 
through the whole of the little island. 

After having examined the ruin, I left Mause- 
thurm. My waterman was fast asleep, but was 
no sooner roused than we proceeded forthwith to 
cross the Rhine, when I again heard the noise of 
the two blacksmiths. 

Half an hour aftewards I arrived at Bingen; 
was very hungry ; supped : after which, although 
fatigued, although the inhabitants were asleep in 
their beds, I explored the Klopp, an old castle in 

Q 


194 


The Rhine! 


ruins which overlooks Bingen, where I witnessed 
a spectacle worthy of closing a day on which I 
saw so many things, with so many ideas crossing 
my mind. 


Legend of Pecopin . 


195 


CHAPTER XXI. 

LEGEND OF THE HANDSOME PECOPIN AND THE 
BEAUTIFUL BAULDOUR. 


The Planet Venus and the Bird Phoenix. — The Difference be- 
tween the Ear of a Young Man and that of an Old one. 
— The Qualities Essential to Different Embassies. — Happy 
Effect of a Good Thought. — The Devil is Wrong in being 
a Gourmand. — Amiable Proposition of an Old Sage. — The 
Wandering Christian. — The Danger to which we Expose 
Ourselves by Getting on a Strange Horse. — The Return. — 
Bauldour. 


I PROMISED to relate one of the legends 
of Falkenburg, perhaps the most interest- 
ing — that of the grave adventure of Guntram 
and Liba ; but, after reflection, I think it would 
be useless to do so, as you will find it in almost 
any collection, written in a spirit far more en- 
livening than I could tell it. However, I will 
record one, which will be found nowhere else. 
You may thank the old French soldier for it. 
This follower of the republican army believes, at 
present, in gnomes and fairies, as devotedly as he 
formerly credited the puissance of the emperor. 
Solitude has always this effect upon the mind; it 
develops the poetry which is inherent in man, 


1 96 


The Rhine. 


and makes him a believer in the wonderful and 
supernatural. 


LEGEND OF THE HANDSOME PECOPIN AND THE 
BEAUTIFUL BAULDOUR. 

The handsome Pecopin loved the beautiful 
Bauldour, and the lovely Bauldour was enamored 
of the. gay Pecopin. He possessed all the quali- 
ties of a lord and of a man; and she was a queen 
when at home, a holy virgin at church, a nymph 
in the woods, and a fairy at work. 

Pecopin was an excellent hunter, and Bauldour 
was a good spinster. When he was absent, the 
distaff amused and consoled her; and when the 
sound of the horn, mingling with the noise of 
the hounds, would strike her ear, she fancied she 
could distinguish the words — “ Think of thy 
lover.” Besides, the wheel, which caused the 
belle reveuse to stoop, was ever saying in a soft 
and small voice— “ Think of him.” 

When the husband and lover are united in one 
person, all goes well. Marry, then, the spinster 
to the hunter, and fear nothing. 

However, I must say that Pecopin was too 
fond of hunting. When he was on horseback, 
the falcon resting on his hand, or when he was 
following the stag, he forgot everything. Who- 
ever loves horses and dogs too much, displeases 


Legend of Pecopin. 


197 


woman ; and he who loves woman too much dis- 
pleases God. Govern, therefore, your tastes, and 
bridle your inclinations. 

When Bauldour, that noble and lovely young 
girl, that star of love, of youth and of beauty, 
saw Pecopin caressing his dog, a huge animal, 
with large nostrils, long ears, and a black mouth, 
she was jealous of it. She entered her room dis- 
concerted and sad, and there wept. Then she 
scolded her servants, and after them her dwarf. 
Woman’s anger is like rain in a forest — it falls 
twice. Bis pluit. 

In the evening Pecopin, blackened with pow- 
der and weary with fatigue, returned to Baul- 
dour, who pouted and murmured, with a tear in 
the corner of her large, black eye. Pecopin 
pressed her little hand, and she ceased murmur- 
ing; then he kissed her rosy lips, and she smiled. 
She never suffered the chevalier to take her by 
the waist. One evening he slightly pressed her 
elbow, and her face colored up with blushes and 
offended pride. She was betrothed and not mar- 
ried. Modesty in woman is what bravery is in 
man. 

PART II. 

The Bird Phgenix and Venus. — Pecopin 
had in his hall at Sonneck a large gilt painting, 
which represented the nine heavens, each with 


The Rhine. 


198 


its appropriate color and name affixed to it : — 
Saturn, leaden color; Jupiter, clear and brilliant; 
Venus, the east on fire; Mercury, sparkling; the 
Moon, with its silvery appearance ; the Sun, 
shining flames. Pecopin erased the word Venus, 
and substituted Bauldour. 

The fair demoiselle had in her room large 
tapestries, on which was an immense bird, the 
size of an eagle, with a golden neck and a blue 
tail. Above this marvelous animal was written 
the Greek word “ Phoenix.” Bauldour effaced it, 
and substituted “ Pecopin.” 

The day fixed for the nuptials drew near. 
Pecopin was full of joy, and Bauldour was 
happy. 

A week before the appointed day of marriage, 
Bauldour was busily spinning at her window. 
Her dwarf came to tell her that Pecopin was 
coming up stairs, at which intelligence she rose 
hurriedly to run to her betrothed, but her foot 
got entangled with the thread, and she fell. Poor 
Baldour rose; she was not hurt, but remembering 
that a similar accident happened at the castle to 
Liba, she felt sad at heart. Pecopin entered 
beaming with joy, spoke of their marriage and 
of their happiness, and the cloud that hovered 
round her soul vanished. 


Legend of Pe copin. 


199 


PART III. 

The Difference between the Ear of a 
Young Man and that of an Old One.— 
Next day Bauldour was spinning in her chamber, 
and Pecopin was hunting in the woods. He had 
no companion but his dog. In following the 
chase, he came to the forest of Sonn, where 
there are four large trees, an ash, an elm, a fir, 
and an oak — which are called by the people 
“ The Evangelists .” As Pecopin passed under 
the shade, four birds were perched upon the 
trees — a daw upon the ash, a blackbird upon the 
elm, a magpie upon the fir, and a crow upon the 
oak. These feathered creatures made a strange, 
confused noise, and seemed as if they were 
interrogating each other. A few steps further 
on, an old man was seated on the stump of a 
tree ; and as Pecopin passed he turned round and 
said : 

“ Sir chevalier, do you know what the birds are 
saying? ” 

“ My good fellow, Pecopin replied, -‘what does 
it matter to me ? ” 

“Sir,” said the peasant, “for the young the 
blackbird whistles, the magpie chatters, and the 
raven croaks ; for the old, the birds speak.” 

The chevalier burst out into a fit of laughter, 
saying, “ Pardieu ! you’re raving.” 


200 


The Rhine. 


“You are wrong, Sir Pecopin,” said the old 
man, gravely. 

“You never saw me before ; how is it that you 
know my name ? ” 

“ From the birds,” replied the peasant. 

“You are an old fool, my worthy fellow,” said 
Pecopin, continuing his route. 

About an hour afterwards Pecopin heard the 
sound of a horn, and then perceived the Count 
Palatine and his suite, who were out on a hunt- 
ing excursion. 

“Holla!” one of them cried out, on seeing 
Pecopin, “ my brave hunter — won’t you accom- 
pany us?” He consented, and conducted him- 
self so marvelously, by killing the different 
animals they pursued, that the count gave him 
a fief of Rhineck, enrolled him amongst his fol- 
lowers, and prevailed upon him to go to Stah- 
leck, to take the oath of allegiance. Pecopin 
sent a message to Bauldour, announcing the in- 
tention of the pfalzgraf. “ Be not uneasy, my 
beloved,” he added ; “ I will be with you next 
month.” The messenger set out, and Pecopin 
retired with the prince and his followers to the 
castle at Bacharach. 


PART IV. 


Qualities Essential to Different Em- 


Legend of Pe copin. 


201 


BASSIES. — Pecopin was a nobleman by blood, 
by nature, and by outward appearance, and 
pleased the pfalzgraf so much, that this prince 
one day said to him : “ My friend, I have an em- 
bassy for my cousin of Bourgogne, and your 
noble appearance and gallant behavior have in- 
duced me to make you my ambassador.” 

Pecopin obeyed the wishes of his prince, and 
went to Dijon, where the Duke received him 
kindly; and he was soon after, on account of 
his rank, sent on an embassy to the King of 
France. One day the king said: “Pecopin, I 
require a gentleman to go to Spain on urgent 
business; but, finding none of my followers ca- 
pable of undertaking such a task, I have fixed 
upon you, on account of your mien and mind.” 
Pecopin again set out; and when the negotiation 
was terminated he went to the sultan to take his 
leave. 

“ I receive your adieus with pleasure, for you 
must set out immediately for Bagdad.” 

“For Bagdad!” Pecopin replied, with as- 
tonishment. 

“ Yes, chevalier,” replied the Moorish prince, 
“ for I cannot sign the treaty with the King 
of France without the consent of the Caliph of 
Bagdad.” 

Pecopin went to Bagdad, where a strange ad- 
venture happened to him. One day, while pass- 

Q* 


202 


The Rhine. 


ing the walls of the seraglio, the sultan’s favorite 
perceived him ; and as he was handsome, bold, 
and of a haughty air, she conceived a passion 
for him and sent a black slave to speak to 
him — 

“ This talisman,” she said, “ is the gift of a 
princess who loves you, but who will never see 
you more. Take care of it, for as long as you 
wear it you will never be old ; when you are in 
dangers touch it and you will be saved.” 
Pecopin accepted the talisman, and attached it 
to his neck-chain. “ Now,” the slave added* 
“ do not lose it, for whilst you have it in your 
possession, you will always have the same youth- 
ful appearance ; but when you lose it, the in- 
firmities of every year which has passed over 
your head will instantly attack you. Adieu, 
handsome giaour.” Having said this the negress 
left him. 

The caliph had observed his favorite’s slave 
speaking with Pecopin, and was fired with 
jealousy. He invited the stranger to a feast, 
and at night conducted him to the summit of 
a high tower. Pecopin, without suspicion, ad- 
vanced near the parapet, which was very low, 
when the caliph addressed him in these words : — 

“ Chevalier — the Count Palatine sent you to 
the Duke of Bourgogne on account of your 
renown ; the Duke of Bourgogne sent you to 


Legend of Pecopin. 


203 


the King of France because you were of a noble 
race; the King of France sent you to the 
Sovereign of Grenada on account of your wit ; 
and he sent you to the Caliph of Bagdad because 
you were dignified in appearance. As for me, on 
account of thy fame, thy rank, thy wit, and thy 
fine appearance, I send thee to the Devil.” 

On pronouncing the last word, the caliph 
pushed Pecopin over the parapet. 

PART V. 

Good Effects of a Good Thought. — 
When a man falls from a height, terrible ideas 
flash across his brain — life, which he is going to 
leave; and the regions of death, which he is 
about to enter. In that awful moment Pecopin 
thought of Bauldour — put his hand to his heart, 
and, without knowing, touched the talisman. 
No sooner had his finger come in contact with 
the magic stone, than he felt as if he were 
supported with wings. He no longer fell — he 
flew, and continued to do so all night. Just as 
day was breaking, the invisible hand that sup- 
ported him placed him gently upon the sea- 
shore. 

ART VI. 

The Devil is Wrong in Being a Gour- 
mand. — At this time a singular and disagreeable 


204 


The Rhine . 


adventure happened to the Devil. It was cus- 
tomary for Asmodeus to go about picking up all 
the souls that belonged to him, putting them 
into a bag and carrying them away upon his 
back. One day, being more fortunate than usual, 
he was filling his sack gayly, when, turning round, 
he beheld an Angel, who was smiling at him. 
The Devil shook up the bag, and continued 
filling for some time. At last he stopped, and 
seized hold of it to swing over his shoulder ; but 
the souls that he had crammed into it were so 
numerous, and the iniquities with which they 
were burdened weighed so heavily, that he could 
not move it. He took both his hands, and made 
a second attempt, which proved as futile as the 
first. “ O souls of lead!” the Devil exclaimed, 
and then he began swearing. Again he looked 
up, and he saw the Angel laughing at him. 

“What are you doing there?” cried the 
Demon. 

“You see well enough ; I was smiling a short 
time ago; now I am laughing.” 

“ O, celestial fowl ! huge innocent ! begone ! ” 
Asmodeus cried. 

The Angel looked at him gravely, and said : — 

“ Hear me, Dragon ; thou wilt not be able to 
carry away that load of souls till a saint from 
Paradise or a Christian from Heaven falls upon 
the earth and helps thee to put it on thy 


Legend of Pecopin. 


205 


shoulders.” That said, the Angel opened his 
wings and flew away. 

The Devil was very much disconcerted. 
“ What does that imbecile mean ?” he muttered 
between his teeth. “A saint from Paradise, or 
a Christian from Heaven ! I shall be forced to 
remain a long time if I wait the coming of such 
assistance. How, in the name of all the saints, 
did I so cram my sack.” 

As the Devil stood by the side of his heavy 
burden, heaping imprecations upon himself for 
his own stupidity, he cast his eyes upwards, and 
perceived a black speck in the heavens, which 
every moment became larger and larger. The 
Devil put his hands on his knees to take a better 
view of it, and discovered that it was a man — 
an armed Christian, bearing a cross upon his 
breast, falling from the clouds. 

“What is it to me who sends him?” ex- 
claimed the Devil, jumping with joy ; “ I am 
saved ! I could not get over four saints a short 
time ago, who laughed at the pitiful tale that I 
told them ; but it will be easy for me to manage 
this fellow.” 

Pecopin, on finding himself on terra firma , 
looked round, and on perceiving the old man, 
who was like a slave resting by the side of his 
load, he accosted him thus: “Who are you, 
friend ? and, pray, where am I ? ” 


206 


The Rhine. 


The Devil whined out piteously — 

“You, Sir, are on the borders of the Red Sea, 
and I am the most wretched of all miserable 
beings. I have a very cruel master, who has 
taken it into his head to build a mountain, and 
he obliges me, an old man, to carry loads of sand 
from the borders of the sea. I begin at the 
break of day, and never leave off before sunset. 
Yesterday I was returning with my sixth load, 
when fatigue overcame me. I thought I would 
rest myself, and afterwards found that I had not 
strength to lift the load on my shoulders, and 
therefore was obliged to remain here all night, 
looking at my burden, and cursing my master for 
his cruelty. My good Sir, for pity’s sake help 
me up with this load, that I may return to my 
master. I am sure he will kill me.” 

Pecopin shook his head, saying, “ Good man, 
your story is an unlikely one.” 

“ My dear Sir,” the Devil replied, “ what has 
happened to you if told, would be as unlikely; 
yet it is true. Then,” he continued, “what 
harm would it do to you to help an infirm old 
man to place his load upon his back? ” 

This was a just demand. Pecopin stooped, 
seized the bag, and was placing it on the back 
of the old man, who was leaning forward to re- 
ceive the load. The Devil is vicious — it was for 
vice that he fell ; he was greedy, which passion 


Legend of Pecopin. 


207 


often causes the loss of all. The idea struck 
him of adding the soul of Pecopin to the others ; 
but first of all he must kill Pecopin. 

The Devil began to speak to some invisible 
spirit, in a kind of jargon, half Italian, half 
Spanish, which Pecopin fortunately understood : 

“ Bamns , non ciera occhi , verb era, frappa , y 
echa la pie dr a.” 

Suspicion flashed like lightning across the 
the mind of Pecopin ; he raised his eyes, and 
saw above his head an enormous stone that some 
invisible hand held suspended in the air. 

He stepped backwards, touched his talisman 
with his left hand, seized his poniard with his 
right, and plunged it violently into the bag. 
The Devil cried hideously, and the souls, profit- 
ing by the hole which Pecopin had made, flew 
away, leaving behind them their dark deeds and 
crimes, which, by their natural attraction to the 
demon, fixed upon his back ; thus it is that the 
Devil is always represented with a hump. 

At the moment that Pecopin stepped back- 
wards, the invisible giant dropped the stone, 
which fell upon the foot of the Devil, and 
crushed it ; and from that day Asmodeus has 
always been club-footed. 

The Devil, like Jove, has thunder at his com- 
mand, but it is of a more frightful nature, com- 
ing from the earth and uprooting trees. Pecopin 


208 


The Rhine . 


felt the ground tremble beneath him; a dense 
cloud rose around, and a noise met his ear: it 
appeared to him that he fell, and rolled along 
the earth like a withered leaf when blown by the 
wind. He fainted. 


PART VII. 

Amiable Propositions of an Old Sage.— 
When Pecopin recovered, he heard a soft voice 
saying, “ Phi sma ,” which is Arabian, and signi- 
fies “ He is in Heaven.” Another person placed 
his hand upon his chest, and replied, “ Lo , lo , 
machi month" which means “ No, no, he is not 
dead.” Pecopin opened his eyes, and saw an old 
man and a young girl kneeling by his side: the 
countenance of the former was as dark as night; 
he had a long, white beard, and was enveloped 
in a scarf of green silk ; the young girl was of a 
copper color, had large, hazel eyes, lips of coral, 
and gold rings hanging from her nose and ears. 
She was exceedingly handsome. 

Pecopin was no longer by the seaside. The 
blast of Hell had borne him into a valley filled 
with rocks and trees of a strange form. He rose. 
The old man and the handsome female looked at 
him affectionately. He approached one of the 
trees ; the leaves contracted, the branches re- 
ceded, and the flowers, which were pale white, 


Legend of Pe copin. 


209 


became red. Pecopin recognized the mimosa* or 
“ tree of shame,” and concluded that he had left 
India, and was now in the famed country of 
Pudiferan. 

The old man beckoned to Pecopin to follow , * 
and in a few minutes all three were seated npon 
a mat in a cabin built of palm-leaves, the interior 
of which was filled with precious stones, that 
shone like a heated furnace. The old man looked 
at Pecopin, and said in German — 

“ My son, I am the man who knows every- 
thing — the great Ethiopian lapidary, the taleb of 
the Arabs. I am the first that ever penetrated 
this desert ; thou art the second. I have passed 
my life in gleaning from nature the science of 
things, and filling them with the science of the 
soul. Thanks to me and to my lessons ; thanks 
to the rays which, in this valley of animate stone, 
of thinking plants, and of wise animals, have 
fallen for a hundred years from my eyeballs! It 
was I who pointed out to beasts their true medi- 
cine, of which man stands so much in need. Till 
now I have only had beasts for disciples, but have 
long wished for a man. Thou art come ; then be 
my. son. I am old. I will leave thee my cabin, 
my precious stones, my valley, and my science. 
Thou shalt marry my daughter, who is called 
Aissab, and who is good and beautiful. We 
shall pass our days happily in picking up 


210 


The Rhine. 


diamonds and eating the roots of plants. Be 
my son.” 

“ Thanks, my venerable seignor,” Pecopin said; 
“ I accept with joy your kind offer.” 

When night came he made his escape. 

PART VIII. 

The Wandering Christian.— To tell all the 
adventures of Pecopin would be to relate the 
voyage of the world. At one time he was walk- 
ing with naked feet on the sea-shore; at another, 
in sandals, climbing a mountain ; now riding upon 
an ass, — afterwards seated on a zebra or an ele- 
phant. He lost in the desert, like Jerome Cos- 
tilla, four of his toes ; and, like Mendez Pinto, 
was sold twenty times. He clambered up moun- 
tains whose summits were hidden in the clouds, 
and, on approaching their tops, vomited blood 
and phlegm. He came to that island which no 
one when seeking can find, and to which chance 
only can bring one. In Scythia he killed a grif- 
fin which the people had long been endeavoring 
to destroy, in order to possess the gold guarded 
by that animal ; for which act they wished to 
make him their king, but he declined their offer. 
Amidst all his adventures, all his daring deeds, 
his miseries, and troubles, the brave and faithful 
Pecopin had only one end in view — to find Ger- 


Legend of Pe copin. 


2 1 1 


many — to enter Falkenburg, with the hope of 
seeing Bauldour. 

He counted with a sad heart the days as they 
passed, and, on reaching the north of France, 
found that five years had elapsed since he had 
seen Bauldour. He sat down upon a stone by 
the roadside ; his thoughts wandered to his 
beloved ; something fell upon his hand ; he 
started — it was a tear that had dropped from 
his cheek. 

“Five years,” he thought, “is a long time; 
but I will see her now.” Then, though his feet 
were lacerated with the stones, and his clothes 
torn, he proceeded with a light heart on his 
journey. 

After traveling all day among rocks, trying to 
discover a passage which descended to the 
Rhine, he arrived at a wood, which, without 
hesitation, he entered ; and after walking for 
upwards of an hour, found himself near a ditch. 
Tired, and dying of hunger and thirst, he sank 
down upon the grass, lifted his eyes upwards, 
and perceived a flock of sheldrakes soaring above 
him. 

In agony of soul, he was asking himself 
where he was, when the sound of some one sing- 
ing in the distance floated on the evening breeze. 
Pecopin raised himself on his elbow, listened 
attentively, and distinguished these words : 


212 







The Rhine.. 


Mon petit lac engendre, en l’ombre qui l’abrite, 

La riante Amphitrite et le noir Neptunus ; 

Mon humble &tang nourrit, sur des monts inconnus, 
L’empereur Neptunus et la reine Amphitrite, 

Je suis le nain, grand-pere des grants. 

Ma goutte d’eau produit deux oceans. 

Je verse de mes rocs, que n’effleure aucun aile, 

Un flueve bieu pour elle, un fleuve vert pour lui, 
J’6panche de ma grotte, ou jamais feu n’a lui, 

Le fleuve vert pour lui, lr fleuve bleu pour elle. 

Je suis le nain, grand-pere des grants. 

Ma goutte d’eau produit deux oceans. 

Unc fine emeraude est dans mon sable jaune. 

Un pur saphir se cache en mon humide 6crin. 

Mon Emeraude fond et devient le beau Rhin ; 

Mon saphir se dissout, ruisselle et fait le Rhone. 

Je suis le nain, grand-pere des geants. 

Ma goutte d’eau produit deux oceans. 

Pecopin could no longer doubt the sad con- 
viction that crossed his mind. Poor, hungry, 
and fatigued traveler! he was in the fatal Wood 
of the Lost Path, which is full of labyrinths, and 
where the dwarf Roulon is ever seen deceiving 
the traveler, who, if once within the wood is 
never known to leave it. 

The voice was that of Roulon ; the song was 
that of the wicked dwarf of the Bois des Pas 
Perdus. 

Pecopin, in despair, threw himself on the 
ground, crying — “Alas! all is over. I shall never 
more behold Bauldour.” 

“You are wrong, if you serve me,” said some 
one from behind. 


Legend of Pecopin . 


213 


Pecopin looked up, and beheld an old gentle- 
man equipped for the chase. It was not the 
dwarf Roulon, which circumstance made his 
heart leap with joy. 

“What do you want with me?” Pecopin de- 
manded. 

“To take thee to Bauldour,” replied the old 
man, smiling. 

“When?” 

“After you have spent a night in the chase.” 

“ But I am dying with hunger,” Pecopin re- 
plied. “ I am not able to get on horseback.” 

The old gentleman took a bottle from his 
pocket and presented it to Pecopin, who no 
sooner swallowed two or three mouthfuls than 
he felt invigorated, and cried — 

“ To the chase with all my heart. But shall I 
really see Bauldour to-morrow?” 

“ Before the sun rises you shall be at the gates 
of Falkenburg.” 

“Hollo, gentlemen! hollo!” the old man 
cried, “ To the chase ! ” 

On turning round, Pecopin perceived that his 
companion was humpbacked ; and when he 
walked, he discovered that he was club-footed. 

At the call of the old man a host of gentle- 
men, clothed like princes, and mounted like 
kings, came from a thicket, and ranged them- 
selves round him. He seemed to be their 


214 


The Rhine. 


master. All were armed with knives and spears, 
the old man alone having a horn. The night 
was dark ; but suddenly two hundred servants 
appeared carrying torches. 

“ Ebbene” said the master, “ ubisunt los per - 
ros ? ” 

This mixture of Italian, Latin, and Spanish 
was not at all agreeable to Pecopin. 

The old man then said with impatience — 

“The dogs! the dogs!” and in less than a 
minute a pack came howling and barking to the 
spot. 

Pecopin thought there was something extra- 
ordinary in all that he saw, and was beginning to 
consider whether he should follow in the chase, 
when the old man addressed him — 

“Well, chevalier, what do you think of our 
dogs?” 

“My good Sir,” Pecopin replied, “ to follow 
such animals we must have most wonderful 
horses.” 

The old man without replying, raised the horn 
to his mouth and blew it ; a noise was heard 
among the trees, and two magnificent horses, 
black as jet, appeared. 

“ Well, seigneur,” said the old man, smiling, 
“ which of the two do you prefer? ” 

Pecopin did not reply, but leaped upon one 
of them. The old man asked him if he was well 


Legend of Pe copin. 


215 


saddled ; and, on being answered in the affirma- 
tive, he burst into a fit of laughter, jumped like a 
tiger upon the other, which trembled fearfully, 
and began to blow the horn so violently, that 
Pecopin, deafened with the noise, believed that 
this singular individual had thunder in his chest. 

PART IX. 

The Danger to which we expose our- 
selves BY GETTING ON A HORSE THAT WE DO 
NOT KNOW. — At the sound of the horn a thou- 
sand strange lights started up in the forest ; 
strange shadows were seen everywhere ; and the 
words, “To the chase,” were heard mingling 
with the barking of the dogs, the neighing of 
horses, and the shaking of the trees. Pecopin’s 
horse, accompanied by that of the old man, 
started off at a violent gallop, making every step 
resound in the lover’s brain, as if the horse’s 
hoofs had come in contact with his skull. It 
was a gallop, rapid, supernatural, which almost 
deprived him of reason, for he was only sensible 
to the frightful noise around — the whistling of 
the wind, the rustling of leaves, the barking and 
howling of dogs, and the neighing of horses. 

Suddenly all was silent, save the sonnd of 
the old man’s horn in the distance. Pecopin 
knew not where he was. He looked round, and 


2l6 


The Rhine. 


perceived his reflection in what he thought was 
the White Lake, then in the Black one ; but saw 
it as the swallows see their shadows- while gliding 
over the surface of a pond. In the midst of this 
course he raised his hand to his talisman, and 
suddenly he was enveloped in darkness, while his 
horse began to gallop with renewed fury. At 
this terrible moment Pecopin commended his 
soul to God, and his heart to his mistress. He 
continued for some time thus, flying, as it were, 
through the air, when the thought struck him 
that death was preferable to such torment. He 
tried to throw himself from his horse, but he 
discovered that some iron hand held him by the 
feet. 

The distant cries, the barking of dogs, the 
neighing of horses, mingling with the blasts of 
the old man’s horn, again resonnded frightfully 
in his ears. The poor chevalier closed his eyes 
and resigned himself to his fate. When he 
opened them, the heat of a tropical night struck 
his countenance ! the roarings of tigers and lions 
reached his ear; and he saw huge ruins and 
strange trees. Pecopin was in an Indian forest — 
he again shut his eyes. 

Suddenly his horse stopped* the noise ceased, 
and all was quiet. 

Pecopin, who had remained for some time with 
his eyes shut, opened them, and found himself 


Legend of Pe copin. 


21 7 


before the facade of a sombre and colossal 
edifice. 

The old man’s horn resounded through the 
building, the doors of the castle opened vio- 
lently, as if by a blast of wind, and Pecopin, on 
his horse, entered a magnificent room, splendidly 
lighted. He cast his eyes towards the extremity 
of the hall, and saw a number of guests, of 
strange appearance, seated at table. No one 
spoke ; no one ate ; nor did any of them look at 
him. There was an empty seat at the head of 
the table, which indicated that they were waiting 
their superior’s arrival. 

Pecopin discovered among this motley group 
the giant Nimrod; King Mithrobusane ; the 
tyrant Machanidas ; the Roman Consul, yEmilius 
Barbula the Second ; Rollo, King of the sea ; 
Zuentibold, the unworthy son of the great Ar- 
nolphe, King of Lorraine ; Athelstan, King of 
England ; Aigrold, King of Denmark. By the 
side of Nimrod, Cyrus, the founder of the Per- 
sian empire, was seated, leaning on his elbow. 

The old man’s horn was again heard ; a large 
door, opposite the one by which Pecopin had en- 
tered, opened, and innumerable valets appeared, 
carrying an immense golden plate, in the mid- 
dle of which was a stag with sixteen horns, 
roasted and smoking. The old man entered 
and took his seat ; and after observing the 
io 


2 1 S 


The Rhine. 


grave looks of his guests, burst into a fit of 
laughter, saying — 

“ H ombres y mngeres , or ca vosotros belle sig- 
nore domini et do mince ^ amigos mios , comment va 
la besogne.” 

“You come very late,” said one of the guests. 

“ That is because I have a friend that is fond 
of hunting; I wished to show him one of our 
excursions.” 

“Yes; but look,” Nimrod said, pointing to a 
little crevice which exposed the break of day. 

“ Well, we must make haste,” the old man 
said, making a sign to the valets to approach and 
deposit their load upon the table. Pecopin at 
this moment drew his sword, sunk his spurs into 
the sides of his horse, which moved forward, and 
said with a loud voice — 

“ Par dieu ! whoever ye may be — spectres, de- 
mons, or emperors — I forbid ye to move ; or, by 
all that is holy, you shall feel, as well as that old 
man, the weight of a living cavalier’s sword upon 
the heads of phantoms. I am in the cave of 
shadows; but I shall do things real and terrible. 
Thou hast lied, miserable old man. Defend thy- 
self; or, by the mass, I will cleave thy head, 
wert thou King Pluto in person.” 

“ What’s the matter, my dear Sir ? ” the old 
man replied, smiling. “You are going to sup 
with us.” 


Legend of Pecopin. 


219 


The grimace which accompanied this gracious 
invitation exasperated Pecopin, who cried — 

“ Defend yourself, old villain! You made me 
a promise, and you shall pay dearly for breaking 
it.” 

“ Ho, ho, my worthy friend ! I have not done 
so ; you must wait a little.” 

“Thou promisedst to take me to Bauldour; 
thou knowest that she is my betrothed.” 

“Well, since you will have it, be it so. Bad 
examples are shown by males and females above 
to those below. The sun and moon are wedded, 
but they are a disconsolate couple, for they are 
never together.” 

“ A truce to raillery ! ” Pecopin cried, burst- 
ing with rage, “ or I will exterminate thee and 
thy demons, and purge thy cavern.” 

The old man replied, laughing, “ Purge, my 
friend. Here is the prescription — senna, rhu- 
barb, and Epsom salts.” 

Pecopin in fury leveled a blow at the old 
man’s head, but his horse drew back, trembling. 
At this moment a gleam of light stole through 
a crevice, the cock crowed, and all disappeared. 
Pecopin, on his horse gliding from beneath him, 
found himself standing, sword in hand, in a 
ravine near an old castle. Day broke ; he lifted 
his eyes, and leaped with joy. It was the castle 
of Falkenburg. He sheathed his sword, and 


220 


The Rhine. 


was beginning to walk cheerfully towards the 
manor, when he heard some one say : 

“ Well, Chevalier de Sonneck, have I kept my 
word ? ” 

Pecopin turned round, and saw the little 
hunchback that he had met in the wood, who 
in irony asked him if he knew him. Pecopin 
said that he did, and thanked him for thus bring- 
ing him to his Bauldour. 

“Wait a little,” the old man said. “You were 
in too great a hurry in accusing me ; you are 
in too great a hurry in returning me thanks. 
Listen. You are my creditor; I owe thee two 
things — the hump on my back and my club- 
foot ; but I am a good debtor. I found out thy 
inclinations, and I thought it would be a pity to 
debar such a good hunter as thou art from par- 
taking in the night chase.” 

Pecopin involuntarily shuddered, and the 
Devil added : 

“ If thou hadst not had thy talisman, I would 
have taken charge of thee ; but I am as well 
pleased that things have turned out as they have 
done.” 

“Tell me, demon,” Pecopin said; “is Baul- 
dour dead, or married, or has she taken the 
veil?” 

“ No ; ” the demon replied, with a sinister grin. 

“ She is at Falkenburg, and still loves me?” 


Legend of Pecopm. 


221 


“ Yes.” 

“ In that case,” Pecopm said, respiring as if a 
load had been taken from his chest, “ whoever 
thou art, and whatever may happen, I thank thee.” 

“Dost thou?” the Devil replied. “Then, if 
thou art satisfied, 5 so am I.” On saying these 
words, he disappeared. 

Pecopin shrugged his shoulders, and said to 
himself, smilingly: 

“ Bauldour lives ; she is free, and still loves 
me. What have I to fear? When I met the de- 
mon yesterday evening, five years had expired 
since I left her, and it is now only a day more.” 

He approached the castle, recognized with joy 
each projection of the bridge, and felt happy. 
The threshold of the house in which our boyish 
have been spent, like the countenance of an 
offectionate mother, smiles upon us, when re- 
turning after a years’ absence, with all the vigor 
of manhood. 

As he was crossing the bridge, he observed a 
beautiful oak, whose top overlooked the parapet. 
“That is strange,” he said to himself; “there 
was no tree there.” Then he remembered that, 
two or three week before he left, Bauldour and 
he had amused themselves by throwing acorns at 
each other, and that at this spot one had fallen 
into the ditch. 

“The Devil!” he exclaimed; “an acorn be- 


222 


The Rhine. 


come a tall oak in five years ! this is certainly a 
fertile soil ! ” 

Four birds were perched upon this tree, trying 
which could make the most noise. Pecopin 
looked up, and saw a daw, a blackbird, a magpie, 
and a crow ; he hurried on — his thoughts were 
on Bauldour. 

He arrived at the staircase, and was ascending 
quickly, when he heard some one laughing be- 
hind him, but on turning round, could see no- 
thing. He reached the door, in which was the 
key; his heart beat violently; he listened, and 
the sound of a wheel struck his ear. Was it 
that of Bauldour? Pecopin, trembling, turned 
the key, opened the door, entered, and beheld 
an old woman, decrepid and worn down by age, 
her face covered with a thousand wrinkles, long 
grey hair, escaping here and there from her cap, 
her eyebrows white, and gums toothless. This 
venerable, yet frightful object was seated near 
the window, her eyes fixed upon the wheel at 
which she was spinning, with the thread betwixt 
her long thin fingers. 

The old lady was apparently very deaf, for, 
notwithstanding the noise that Pecopin made in 
entering, she did not move. Nevertheless, the 
chevalier took off his hat, as it becomes a man 
before a person of advanced age, and, going near 
her, said, “Madame, where is Bauldour?” 


Legend of Pe copin. 


223 


The old dame lifted her eyes, and fixed them 
on Pecopin ; the thread dropped from her trem- 
bling hand ; she screamed, and said with a feeble 
voice — 

“Oh Heaven! — Pecopin? What would you? 
Masses for your troubled soul? or why is it that, 
being so long dead, your shadow still walks 
abroad ? ” 

“ Pardieu ! my good lady,” Pecopin replied, 
laughing and speaking very loud, so that, if 
Bauldour was in the next room, she might hear 
him; — “Pardieu! I am not dead! It is not my 
ghost which stands before you. I am of good 
solid flesh and bone, and have come back, not to 
have masses said for my sdul, but for a kiss from 
my betrothed, whom I love more than ever.” 

As he finished the last words, the old lady 
threw herself into his arms. It was Bauldour! 
The night-chase with the Devil had lasted a 
hundred years ! 

Pecopin, distracted, left the apartment, ran 
down stairs, crossed the court, flew to the moun- 
tain, and took refuge in the forest of Sonneck. 
Like a madman, he wandered about the woods 
all day: and when evening came, seeing that he 
was approaching the turrets of his own castle, he 
tore off the rich clothes which the Devil had 
given him, and threw them into the torrent of 
Sonneck. Suddenly, his knees trembled, his 


224 


The Rhine. 


hands shook, and to prevent himself from fall- 
ing, he leaned against a tree. In Pecopin’s excess 
of grief, he had unconsciously seized the talis- 
man, and thrown it, with his clothes, into the 
torrent. The words of the Sultana’s slave 
proved true. In one minute Pecopin had all 
the infirmities attendant upon extreme old age. 
At that moment, he heard a burst of laughter; 
he looked round, but could see no one. 

Pecopin, in pain and dejection, supporting 
himself on a stick, was returning to his castle, 
when he perceived a jackdaw', a blackbird, a 
magpie, and a cro w, seated on the roof of the 
out-house. He remembered the words of the 
old man — “For the young the blackbird 
whistles, the magpie chatters, and the crow 
croaks, the hens cackle, and the doves coo ; for 
the old man, the birds speak.” He listened at- 
tentively, and the following is the dialogue he 
heard : — 

Blackbird. — Enfin mon beau chasseur, te voil& de retour. 

Jackdaw. — Tel qui part pour un an croit partir pour un jour. 

Crow. — Tu fis la chasse a l’aigle, ou milan, ou vautour. 

Magpie. — Mieux eut value la faire au doux oiseau d’amour 

Hen. — Pecopin ! Pecopin ! 

Dove. — Bauldour ! Bauldour ! Bauldour \ 


Bingen. 


225 


CHAPTER XXII. 

BINGEN. 

Houses at Bingen. — Paradise Plain. — The Klopp. — Mdlle. 
Bertin. — The Sage. 

B INGEN is an exceedingly pretty place, 
having at once the sombre look of an 
ancient town, and the cheering aspect of a new 
one. From the days of Consul Drusus to those 
of the Emperor Charlemagne, from Charlemagne 
to Archbishop Willigis, from Willigis to the 
merchant Montemagno, and from Montemagno 
to the visionary Holzhausen, the town gradually 
increased in the number of its houses, as the 
dew gathers drop by drop in the cup of a lily. 
Excuse this comparison ; for, though flowery, it 
has truth to back it, and faithfully illustrates the 
mode in which a town near the conflux of two 
rivers is constructed. The irregularity of the 
houses — in fact everything, tends to make Bingen 
a kind of antithesis, both with respect to build- 
ings and the scenery which surrounds them. 
The town, bounded on the left by the Nahue, 
and by the Rhine on the right, develops itself in 
a triangular form near a Gothic church, which is 
backed by a Roman citadel. In this citadel, 
10* 


226 


The Rhine. 


which bears the date of the first century, and has 
long been the haunt of bandits, there is a garden ; 
and in the church, which is of the fifteenth 
century, is the tomb of Barthelemy de Holz- 
hausen. In the direction of Mayence, the famed 
Paradise Plain opens upon the Ringau ; and in 
that of Coblentz, the dark mountains of Leyen 
seem to frown on the surrounding scenery. Here 
Nature smiles like a lovely woman extended un- 
adorned on the greensward; there, like a slum- 
bering giant, she excites a feeling of awe. 

The more we examine this beautiful place, the 
more the antithesis is multiplied under our looks 
and thoughts. It assumes a thousand different 
forms; and as the Nahue flows through the 
arches of the stone bridge, upon the parapet of 
which the lion of Hesse turns its back to the 
eagle of Prussia, the green arm of the Rhine 
seizes suddenly the fair and indolent stream, and 
plunges it into the Bingerloch. 

To sit down towards the evening on the sum- 
mit of the Klopp, — to see the town at its base, 
•with an immense horizon on all sides, the moun- 
tains overshadowing all — to see the slated roofs 
smoking, the shadows lengthening, and the 
scenery breathing to life the verses of Virgil — to 
respire at once the wind which rustles the leaves, 
the breeze of the flood, and the gale of the 
mountain — is an exquisite and inexpressible 


Hie Klopp. 


22 7 


pleasure, full of secret enjoyment, which is veiled 
by the grandeur of the spectacle, by the intensity 
of contemplation. At the windows of huts, 
young women, their eyes fixed upon their work, 
are gaily singing ; among the weeds that grow 
round the ruins birds whistle and pair; barks are 
crossing the river, and the sound of oars splash- 
ing in the water, and unfurling of sails, reaches 
our ears. The washerwomen of the Rhine spread 
their clothes on the bushes; and those of the 
Nahue, their legs and feet naked, beat their linen 
upon floating rafts, and laugh at some poor artist 
as he sketches Ehrenfels. 

The sun sets, night comes on, the slated roofs 
of the houses appear as one, the mountains con- 
gregate and take the aspect of an immense dark 
body ; and the washerwomen, with bundles on 
their heads, return cheerfully to their cabins : the 
noise subsides, *the voices are hushed ; a faint 
light, resembling the reflections of the other 
world upon the countenance of a dying man, is 
for a short time observable on the Ehrenfels ; 
then all is dark, except the tower of Hatto, 
which, though scarcely seen in the day, makes its 
appearance at night, amidst a light smoke and 
the reverberation of the forge. 

A few days ago I was seated on the platform 
at Klopp, and in a reverie had allowed my 
thoughts to wander at freedom. Suddenly, a 


228 


The Rhine . 


small skylight window under my feet was opened, 
and I perceived a young girl appear at the win- 
dow, who was singing to a slow and plaintive air, 
in a clear, rich voice, the following stanza : 

“ Plas mi cavalier frances 
E la dona catalana 
E l’onraz del ginoes 
E la court de castelana 
Lou cantaz proveacales 
E la danza trevisana 
E lou corps aragones 
La mans a kara d’angles 
E lou donzel de Toscana.” 

I immediately recognized the joyful verses of 
Frederick Barberousse. It would be impossible 
for me to describe the effect they had upon me 
when heard in this ancient ruin, in the midst of 
obscurity — that song of the emperors, sung by a 
young girl ; these Roman verses, accented by a 
German tongue ; that gayety of by-gone times 
changed into melancholy ; that ray of the Cru- 
sades piercing the shadow of the present, and 
throwing its light upon me, poor, bewildered 
dreamer. 

Since I have spoken upon the music which I 
heard upon the Rhine, why not mention that 
which I heard when at Bacharach ? Several stu- 
dents, seated upon the trunk of a tree, sang to 
German words that admirable air in “ Quas- 
imode, ” which is the most beautiful and most 


Curiosities of Bingen. 


229 


original in Mademoiselle Bertin’s opera. The 
future, doubt it not, my friend, will render jus- 
tice to that remarkable opera, which on its ap- 
pearance was unfairly attacked and unjustly dealt 
with. The public, too often duped by ungener- 
ous criticisms, by the malice of rivalry, with re- 
spect to works of genius, will think for itself, and 
will one day admire that soft and profound 
music, so pathetic and powerful, at moments 
melancholy, yet pleasing — music, so to speak, 
where, in each note, is mixed that which is most 
tender and most grave — the heart of a lady and 
the mind of a sage. Germany has already ren- 
dered her justice, — France will soon follow her 
example. 

As I care little about what are termed local 
curiosities, I must admit that I did not see the 
miraculous horn, nor the nuptial bed, nor the 
iron chair of Broemser. To make amends, I 
visited the square dungeon of Rudesheim, the 
Roman caves, and saw lanterns of the thirteenth 
century and numerous sepulchral urns. 

In the room where I was accustomed to dine 
at Bingen, I saw two individuals seated at op- 
posite tables. There was such a contrast, both 
in their appearance and in their repast, that it 
could not fail to excite attention. The one was 
a huge Bavarian major, who spoke a little 
French, and who allowed dish after dish to be 


230 


The Rhine . 


taken away without scarcely touching them ; the 
other was a poor looking devil, seated before a 
plate of choucroute, who, after having his meagre 
pittance, finished his dinner by devouring with 
his eyes the loaded plates of his neighbor. The 
words of Albancourt struck me forcibly when 
looking at that living parable: — “ La Providence 
met voluntiers V argent d'un cotd et V appetit de 
V autre." 

The poor fellow was a young savant, pale, 
grave, and melancholy. It was said that he was 
in love with one of the servants of the auberge, 
which is rather strange, for to me a savant in 
love is a problem. How is it possible that the 
studies, the dull experiments, and minute ob- 
servations which compose the life of a sage, can 
agree with the hope, disappointment, jealousy, 
rage, and loss of time which attend the tender 
passion? Imagine how Doctor Huxham could 
have loved, who, in his excellent treatise “ De 
ALre et Morbis Epidemicis,” has told, month after 
month, the quantity of rain that fell at Ply- 
mouth during the period of twenty-two years. 
Imagine Romeo looking through a microscope, 
and counting the seventeen thousand facettes of 
the eye of a fly; Don Juan with an apron on, 
analyzing the paratar trovinate of potash ; and 
Othello, in a stooping posture, looking for gail- 
lonelles in the fossils of China. 


The Sage. 


231 


However, in spite of all laws, this poor devil 
was in love. At times he spoke French, which 
was far superior to the major’s, and his address 
was more gentlemanly — yet he had not a stiver. 
Sometimes my young savant drank, during the 
hours at table d’hote, a bottle of small beer, 
while his eye surveyed in envy the opening and 
shutting the mouths of the inmates of the hotel 
Victoria. The society here was rather mixed, 
and not at all harmonious. At the end of the 
table was an old English dame, and by her side 
three pretty children : she was apparently a 
governess or an aunt, whose consequential airs 
raised in my heart a feeling of sympathy for the 
pretty little ones. The major was seated near 
her, to whom, for politeness, he addressed his 
conversation, at one time describing an engage- 
ment, at another telling her he was going to 
Baden, because everybody went there. On his 
right hand was an advocate ; and next to the 
advocate was an old man, whose thin gray hair 
and reverential mien had that mild appearance 
which a near approach to the grave gives, and 
which cites in every look the beautiful verses 
of Homer. In front of the old gentleman was 
my young sage, who spoke pompously of the 
“ harrangues ” that were brought from the sea. 
To me “ harens ” (herrings) would have been more 
likely to have come from such a quarter. 


232 


The Rhine. 


One day I invited him to dine with me, which 
invitation was cordially accepted — the more so, 
perhaps, because the poor fellow had not break- 
fasted. We chatted a little, took a walk, and 
afterwards visited the Island of Rats, which 
pleased my companion very much ; for a good 
dinner, a gratuitous sail, and a chit-chat with the 
worthy blacksmiths, were things which were not 
of an everyday occurrence with him. Such were 
my adventures at Bingen. 


Mayence . 


233 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

MAYENCE. 

Cathedral. — Its Interior. — Henry Frauenlob, the Tasso of May- 
ence — Market Place. 

M AYENCE and Frankfort, like Versailles 
and Paris, may, at the present time, be 
called one town. In the middle age there was a 
distance of eight leagues between them, which 
was then considered a long journey ; now, an 
hour and a quarter will suffice to transport you 
from one to the other. The buildings of Frank- 
fort and Mayence, like those of Liege, have been 
devastated by modern good taste, and old and 
venerable edifices are rapidly disappearing, 
giving place to frightful groups of white houses. 
I expected to see, at Mayence, Martinsburg, 
which, up to the seventeenth century, was the 
feudal residence of the ecclesiastical electors ; 
but the French made an hospital of it, which 
was afterwards razed to the ground to make 
room for the Porte Franc; the merchant’s hotel, 
built in 1317 by the famed League, and which 
was splendidly decorated with the statues of 
seven electors, and surmounted by two colossal 


234 


The Rhine. 


figures, bearing the crown of the empire, also 
shared the same fate. Mayence, however, 
though plunged into the Renaissance, possesses 
that which marks its antiquity — a venerable 
cathedral, which was commenced in 978, and 
finished in 1009. Part of this suberb structure 
was burnt in 1190, and since that period has, 
from century to century, undergone some 
change. 

I explored its interior, and was struck with 
awe on beholding innumerable tombs, bearing 
dates as far back as the eighteenth century. 
Under the galleries of the cloister I observed an 
obscure monument, a bas-relief of the fourteenth 
century, and tried, in vain, to guess the enigma. 
On one side are two men in chains, wildness in 
their looks, and despair in their attitudes ; on the 
other, an emperor, accompanied by a bishop, and 
surrounded by a number of people, triumphing. 
Is it Barberousse ? Is it Louis of Bavaria? Does 
it speak of the revolt of 1160, or of the war be- 
tween Mayence and Frankfort in 1332? I could 
not tell, and therefore passed by. 

As I was leaving the galleries, I discovered in 
the shade a sculptured head, half protruding 
from the wall, surmounted by a crown of flower- 
work, similar to that worn by the kings of the 
eleventh century. I looked at it : it had a mild 
countenance ; yet it possessed something of se- 


Mayence. 


235 


verity in it — a face imprinted with that august 
beauty which the workings of a great mind give 
to the countenance of man. The hand of some 
peasant had chalked the name “Frauenlob” 
above it, and I instantly remembered the Tasso 
of Mayence, so calumniated during his life, so 
venerated after his death. When Henry Frauen- 
lob died, which was in the year 1318, the females 
who had insulted him in life carried his coffin to 
the tomb, which procession is chiseled on the 
tombstone beneath. I again looked at that noble 
head. The sculptor had left the eyes open ; and 
thus, in that church of sepulchres — in that clois- 
ter of the dead — the poet alone sees ; he only is 
represented standing, and observing all. 

The market-place, which is by the side’ of the 
cathedral, has rather an amusing and pleasing 
aspect. In the middle is a pretty triangular 
fountain of the German Renaissance , which, be- 
sides having sceptres, nymphs, angels, dolphins, 
and mermaids, serves as a pedestal to the Virgin 
Mary. Upon one of the faces is the following 
pentameter : 

“Albertus princeps civibus ipse suis.” 

This fountain was erected by Albert de Braden- 
burg, who reigned in 1540, in commemoration of 
the capture of Francis the First by Charles the 
Fifth. 


236 


The Rhine. 


Mayence, white though it be, receives not the 
respect of a mercantile city. The river here is 
not less crowded with sails, the town not less in- 
cumbered with bales, nor more free from bustle, 
than formerly. People walk, speak, push, sell, 
buy, sing, and cry; in fact, in all the quarters of 
the town, in every house, life seems to predom- 
inate. At night the buzz and noise cease, and 
nothing is heard at Mayence but the murmurings 
of the Rhine, and the everlasting noise of seven- 
teen water mills, which are fixed to the piles of 
the bridge of Charlemagne. 


Frankfort. 


23 7 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

FRANKFORT ON THE MAINE. 

J ews at F rankfort. — Slaughter-House. — Roemer. — Inhabitants 
of the Steeple. 


I ARRIVED at Frankfort on a Saturday; 

and after walking for some time in search 
of the beauties of my old favorite town, I came 
to a singular street, with two long ranges of 
high, sombre, and sinister-looking houses, cling- 
ing to each other, as it were, with terror. Not a 
door was open, not a window that was not se- 
cured with iron gratings. There was no singing, 
no merry voices; no — a dismal silence reigned 
over all. One or two men passed, who looked at 
me with an air of suspicion and discontent, and 
through the bars of iron of the third-floor win- 
dows I observed several females, whose counte- 
nances were of a brown color, and who looked 
with stealth, to see who was passing. I was in 
the street of the Jews; it was their Sabbath. 

At Frankfort there are still Jews and Chris- 
tians — true Christians who hate the Jews, and 
Jews who hate the Christians. 

Perhaps in no town in the world are there so 


238 


The Rhine . 


many statues and figures about the streets as 
at Frankfort. Whichever way we turn, statues 
of all epochs, of all styles, and of all sexes, are 
sure to meet the eye ; horned satyrs, nymphs, 
dwarfs, giants, sphinxes, dragons, devils : in fact, 
an unfortunate world of supernatural beings is to 
be seen here. 

One of the curiosities of Frankfort is the 
Slaughter-house. It is impossible to see older 
and blacker houses decorated with more splen- 
did legs of mutton and loins of beef. Glut- 
tonous and jovial-looking figures are curiously 
sculptured upon the facades, and the openings 
of the ground-floors seem like huge mouths, 
ready to devour innumerable cattle, either living 
or dead. The blood-bedaubed butcher chats 
freely with the rosy-cheeked bouchdres under 
garlands of gigots, and before a red stream, on 
which two fountains are playing, as it runs smok- 
ing through the middle of the street. When I 
was there, frightful cries was heard in all direc- 
tions : it was a massacre of sucking-pigs that was 
taking place. Servants, with baskets on their 
arms, were laughing amidst the general uproar, 
and casting amorous looks towards some stal- 
wart youths, with knives in their hands, who 
were ready to obey the demands of their cus- 
tomers; here, some bargaining; there, others 
quarreling. A butcher passed carrying a suck- 


Frankfort. 


239 


ing-pig by the hind legs, which I would have 
purchased had I known what to do with it. 
The poor little creature squeaked not ; it was 
ignorant of its impending fate, and knew not 
what was about to take place. A pretty little 
girl, about four years of age, was looking at it 
with compassion ; and seemed to beseech me 
with her soft eyes to purchase the little thing 
and save it from immediate death. I did not do 
what that charming eye told me ; I disobeyed 
her demand, so sweetly expressed ; but I re- 
proached myself afterwards for not gratifying the 
wishes of that innocent child. 

After leaving the Slaughter-house, we enter 
a large square, worthy of Flanders, and which 
excites the curiosity of all travelers. It com- 
prises all the styles of architecture of the Re- 
naissance, and is ornamented according to the 
taste of that epoch. Near the middle of the 
square are two fountains — the one of the Re- 
naissance, and the other of the eighteenth cen- 
tury, upon the tops of which are the statues of 
Minerva and Judith, the Homeric and Biblical 
viragos ; the former bearing the head of Medusa, 
the latter that of Holofernes. 

Opposite this fountain is the Roemer, where 
Emperors were proclaimed. I entered, and 
wandered along a large hall with a long stair- 
case, then amongst innumerable corridors. After 


240 


The Rhine. 


visiting the elector’s hall, I came to the col- 
legiate church of Frankfort, which is dedicated 
to St. Barthelemy. The view here was charm- 
ing. Over my head was a lovely sun ; at my 
feet, the town of Frankfort; to my left, the 
Roemer; and to my right, the black and narrow 
street of the Jews. Whilst buried in a profound 
reverie, the clouds gathered above me, and, 
chased by the wind, rolled about the heavens, 
covering and uncovering at each instant shreds 
of azure, while heavy drops of rain began to fall 
upon the earth, and lightning to flash from the 
heavens. I thought I was alone upon the tower, 
and would have remained there all day, but sud- 
denly a rustling noise startled me, and on look- 
ing round I perceived a young girl, about four- 
teen years of age, looking at me from a small 
window. I advanced a few steps, and after pass- 
ing the angle of the Pfarrthurm, I found myself 
amongst the inhabitants of the steeple — a little 
world, smiling and happy. A young girl was 
knitting; an old woman, probably her mother, 
spinning; doves were cooing on the top of the 
steeple ; and an hospitable monkey, on perceiv- 
ing me, extended its little paw from the bottom 
of its cage. Add to this the peace of elevated 
places, where nothing is heard but the murmuring 
of the winds, and from whence we see the beauty 
of the surrounding country. In a part of the 


Frankfort. 


241 


tower the old woman had made a fire, on which 
she was cooking a humble repast. How this 
little family came there, and for what end, I do 
not know; but they interested me much. This 
proud city, once engaged in so many wars, — 
this city, which dethroned so many Caesars, — 
this city, whose walls were like an armor, is at 
present crowned by the hearth of a poor old 
woman. 


n 


242 


The Rhine. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE RHINE. 

Rafts on the Rhine.-^Secret Souvenirs. — Oberwerth. 

T HE Rhine assumes all aspects — at one 
time broad, then narrow. It is trans- 
parent, tranquil, and rapid ; it is a torrent at 
Schaffouse, a gulf at Laufen, a river at Sickingen, 
a flood at Mayence, a lake at St. Goar, and a 
marsh at Leyde. 

The Rhine is calm, at least towards evening, 
and appears as if sleeping— a phenomenon more 
apparent than real, and which is visible upon all 
great rivers. The part of the Rhine the most 
celebrated and admired, the most curious for 
the historian, and the loveliest for the poet,' is 
that which traverses, from Bingen to Kcenigs- 
winter, that dark chaos of volcanic mounds 
which the Romans termed the Alpes des Cattes. 

From Mayence to Bingen, as from Kcenigs- 
winter to Cologne, there are seven leagues of 
rich smiling plains, with handsome villages, on 
the river’s brink ; but the great encaissement of 
the Rhine begins at Bingen by the Rupertsberg 


The Rhine . 


243 


and Niederwald, and terminates at Kcenigswinter 
at the base of the Seven Mountains. 

At each turning of the river, a group of 
houses — a town or borough — develops itself, 
with a huge tower in ruins peering over it. 
These hamlets present an imposing aspect ; 
young women are seen busily washing and sing- 
ing, with children playing round them ; the 
basket-maker at work on the door-step of his 
hut ; the fisherman mending his net in his boat ; 
— all perform what God has ordered — man as 
well as the orb of day. 

At the time of the Romans and of the Bar- 
barians the Rhine was termed the “ street ” of 
soldiers ; in the middle ages, when the river was 
bordered with ecclesiastical states, and, from its 
source to its mouth, was under the control of 
the Abbot of St. Gall, the Bishops of Constance, 
Bale, Spire, Worms, the Archbishop-Electors of 
Mayence, Treves, and Cologne, the Rhine was 
called “the street of the priests;” at present it 
is that of the merchants. 

The traveler who ascends the river sees it, so 
to speak, coming to him, and then the sight is 
full of charms. At each instant he meets some- 
thing which passes him ; at one time, a vessel 
crowded with peasants, especially if it be Sun- 
day ; at another, a steamboat ; then a long, two- 
masted vessel laden with merchandise, its pilot 


244 


The Rhine . 


attentive and serious, its sailors busy, with 
women seated near the door of the cabin ; here, 
a heavy-looking boat, dragging two or three 
after it ; there, a little horse, drawing a huge 
bark, as an ant drags a dead beetle. Suddenly 
there is a winding in the river ; and formerly, on 
turning, an immense raft, a floating house, pre- 
sented itself, the oars splash on both sides. On 
the ponderous machine were cattle of all kinds, 
some bleating, and others bellowing, when they 
perceived the heifers peaceably grazing on the 
banks. The master came and went, looked at 
this, then at that, while the sailors busily per- 
formed their respective duties. A whole village 
seemed to live on this float — on this prodigious 
construction of fir. 

It is, perhaps, difficult to imagine such an 
island of wood coming and going from Namedy 
to Dordrecht, along the windings and turnings, 
the falls and serpentine meanderings of the 
Rhine. Wrecks, it is true, frequently take place, 
which gave rise to the saying, “that a float mer- 
chant ought to have three capitals — the first 
upon the Rhine, the second on land, and the 
third in his pocket.” The conducting of each 
of these enormous constructions was left entirely 
to the charge of one man. At the end of the 
last century, the great maitre flotteur of Rudes- 
heim was called “Old Jung.” He died: 


The Rhine. 


245 


since that time these great floats have disap- 
peared. 

At present, twenty-five steamers are engaged 
on the Rhine,, nineteen of which belong to the 
Cologne Steam Company, and are constantly 
plying from Strasburg to Dusseldorf ; they are 
known by their white and black funnels. The 
remaining six belong to the Dusseldorf Com- 
pany, which have tri-colored funnels, and ply 
from Mayence to Rotterdam. The ancient 
mode of navigating the Rhine, which was by 
vessels with sails, contrasts strangely with the 
present. The steamboats, with life in their ap- 
pearance, rapid, comfortable, and painted with 
the colors of all nations, have for invocation the 
names of princes and cities: Ludwig II., Gross, 
Herzog von Hessen, Konigin, Victoria, Herzog 
von Nassau, Prinzessin Mariann, Gross Herzog 
von Baden, Stadt Manheim, Stadt Coblentz. 
The sailing vessels glide slowly along, and have 
at their prows grave and reverential names, such 
as Pius, Columbus, Amor Sancta Maria, Gratia 
Dei. The steamboat is varnished and gold 
lettered ; the sailing vessel is bedaubed with 
pitch. The one pursues its way beseeching of 
men ; the other continues its course in prayer. 
The one depends upon man ; the other places its 
reliance in God— food, and that which is the gift 
of Heaven, being its cargo. 


246 


The Rhine . 


From Cologne to Mayence there are forty-nine 
islands, covered with thick verdure, which hide 
the smoking roofs, and shade the barks in their 
charming havens, each bearing some secret sou- 
venir. Graupenwerth, where the Hollanders 
constructed a fort, and called it “ the Priest’s 
Bonnet ; ” Pfaffenmuth, a fort which the Span- 
iards took, and gave it the name of “ Isabella ; ” 
Graswerth, the island of grass, where Jean Phil- 
ippe de Reichenberg wrote his “ Antiquitates 
Saynenses ; Niederwerth, formerly so rich with 
the gifts of the Margrave Archbishop, Jean II.; 
Urmitzer Insel, which was well known to Caesar ; 
and Nonnenswerth, the spot frequented by 
Roland. 

The souvenirs of the banks of the Rhine seem 
to have responded to those of the islands, and 
whatever took place on one side was sure to have 
given rise to something else on the opposite one. 
Permit me to run over a few of them. The coffin 
of Saint Nizza, granddaughter of Louis-le-De- 
bonnaire, is at Cologne ; the tomb of Saint Ida, 
cousin of Charles Martel, is at Cologne. Saint 
Genevieve lived in the woods at Fraunkirch, near 
a mineral fountain, which is still seen, adjoining 
a chapel that was built to her memory. It was 
Schinderhannes who, with a pistol in his hand, 
forced a band of Jews to take off their shoes; 
then, after mixing them, ordered each person to 


Souvenirs. 


247 


take the first pair he could find and be off, for he 
would put the last to instant death. The terri- 
fied Jews did so, and fled precipitately, some 
stumbling, others limping and hobbling, making 
a strange, clattering noise, which excited the 
laughter of Jean l’Ecorcheur. 

When the traveler has passed Coblentz, and 
left behind him the graceful island of Oberwerth, 
the mouth of the Lahn strikes his attention. 
The sight here is admirable. The two crumbling 
towers of Johanniskirch, which vaguely resemble 
Jumeiges, rise, as it were, from the water’s brink. 
To the right, above the borough of Cappellan, 
the magnificent fortress of Stolzenfels stands, 
upon the brow of a huge rock; and to the left, 
at the bottom of the horizon, the clouds and the 
setting sun mingle with the sombre ruins of 
Lahneck, which abound with enigmas for the his- 
torian, and darkness for the antiquary. On each 
side of the Lahn is a pretty town, Niederlahn- 
stein and Oberlahnstein, which seem smiling at 
each other. A few stone-throws from the oriental 
gate of Oberlahnstein, the trees of an orchard 
disclose, and at the same time hide, a small 
chapel of the fourteenth century, which is sur- 
mounted by a mean-looking steeple. The depo- 
sition of Wencesles took place here. 

In front of this chapel, upon the opposite 
bank, is ancient Kcenigsstuhl, which, not more 


248 


The Rhine. 


than half a century ago, was the seat of royalty, 
and where the emperors were elected by the 
seven electors of Germany. At present, four 
stones mark the place where it formerly stood, 
After leaving this place, the traveler proceeds to- 
wards Braubach ; passes Boppart, Welmich, Saint 
Goar, Oberwesel ; and suddenly comes to an im- 
mense rock, surmounted by an enormous tower 
on the right bank of the river. At the base of 
the rock is a pretty little town with a Roman 
church in the center; and opposite in the middle 
of the Rhine is a strange, oblong edifice, whose 
back and front resemble the prow and poop of a 
vessel, and whose large and low windows are like 
hatches and port-holes. 

The tower is the Gutenfels ; this town is Caub; 
this stone ship — eternally on the Rhine, and 
always at anchor — is the Palace, or Pfalz. To 
enter this symbolic residence, which is built upon 
a bank of marble, called “ the Rock of the Pala- 
tine Counts,” we must ascend a ladder that rests 
upon a drawbridge, a portion of which is still to 
be seen. 

From Taunus to the Seven Mountains there 
are fourteen castles on the right bank of the 
river, and fifteen on the left, making in all twen- 
ty-nine, which bear the souvenirs of volcanoes, 
the traces of war, and the devastations of time. 
Four of these castles were built in the eleventh 


Ancient Castles . 


249 


century — Ehrenfels, by the Archbishop of Sieg- 
fried ; Stahleck, by the Counts Palatine ; Sayn, 
by Frederick, first Count of Sayn, and vanquisher 
of the Moors of Spain ; and the others at a later 
period. 

This long and double row of venerable edifices, 
at once poetic and military, which bear upon 
their front all the epochs of the Rhine, every 
one having its sieges and its legends, begins at 
Bingen, by the Ehrenfels on the right, and by 
the Rat Tower on the left, and finishes at 
Kcenigswinter, by the Rolandseck on the left, 
and the Drachenfels on the right. 

The number which I have given only includes 
those castles that are on the banks of the Rhine, 
and which every traveler will see in passing ; but 
should he explore the valleys and ascend the 
mountains, he will meet a ruin at every step ; 
and if he ascend the Seven Mountains, he will 
find an abbey, Schomburg, and six castles — the 
Drachenfels, Wolkenberg, Lowenberg, Nonnes- 
tromberg, and the CElberg, the last of which 
was built by Valentinian, in the year 368. 

In the plain near Mayence is Frauenstein, 
which was built in the twelfth century, Scarfen- 
stein and Greifenklau ; and on the Cologne side 
is the admirable castle of Godesberg. 

These ancient castles which border the Rhine, 
these colossal bounds, built by Ftodalitt, fill the 
11* 


250 


The Rhine. 


country with reveries and pleasant associations. 
They have been mute witnesses of bygone ages 
— prominent features in great actions ; and their 
walls have echoed the cries of war and the mur- 
murings of peace. They stand there like eternal 
monuments of the dark dramas which, since the 
tenth century, have been played on the Rhine. 
They have witnessed, so to speak, monks of all 
orders, men of all ranks ; and there is not an 
historical fact in the lives of those men who 
took a prominent part on the Rhine that is not 
designed on their venerable walls. They have 
listened to the voice of Petrarch : they saw, in 
1415, the eastern bishops, proud and haughty, 
going to the assembly of divines at Constance, 
to try Jean Huss; in 1441, going to the council 
of Bale, to depose Eugene IV.; and, in 1519, 
to the diet of Worms, to interrogate Luther: 
they witnessed, floating on the Rhine, the body 
of Saint Werner, who fell a martyr to the Jews 
in 1287. In fact, all the great events, from the 
ninth to the nineteenth century, that transpired 
on the banks of the flood have, as it were, come 
under their notice. They are mute recorders of 
the thing that were — of Pepin, of Charlemagne, 
of Charles the Fifth, and of Napoleon. All the 
great events which time after time, shook and 
frightened Europe, have, like the lightning’s 
flash, lighted up these old walls. At present it 


Ancient Castles. 


251 


is the moon and the sun that shed their light 
upon these ancient edifices, famed in story and 
gnawed by time, whose walls are falling, stone 
by stone, into the Rhine, and whose dates are 
fast dwindling into oblivion. 

O, noble towers ! O, poor paralyzed giants ! 
A steamboat filled with merchants and with 
peasants, when passing, hurls its smoke in thy 
faces. 



INDEX. 




INDEX 


A. 


Abailard, 

Abbey of Notre Dame de l’Epine, . 

Abbey of Saint Thomas, .... 

Actius, 

Agrippa, Founder of Cologne, . 

Agrippina, 

Aix-la-Chapelle, Napoleon I. at 

First Bishop of, . 

Relics at, ... 
Charlemagne born at, 
Chapel at, 

Legend of the Wolf at, 
Tomb of Charlemagne at, 
Hotel-de-Ville at, 

Alexander I. at the Tomb of Charlemagne, 
Almanza, Battle of, .... 
Alains, The, ••••.. 

Amadis, 

Andelot, 

Andernach, Town of, • • • 

Anjou, Duke of, 


PAGE 
. 29 

2 3 
. 119 

30 

. 98 

106 
. 84 

81 
69, 79 

69 

• 7o 

70 

• 77 
86 

. 84 
104 

• 30 
2 9 

. 29 

118 


256 


Index. 







PAGE 

Antoine Berdolet, .... 


• 



8l 

Antoinette, Marie, 

. 


. 


. 20 

Apollinaire, Saint, 


• 


. 

128 

Archbishop Hatto, JLegena or, . 

. 


• 


00 

M 

Arcis-sur-Aube, Battle of, 


• 


• 

65 

Ardennes, The Boar of, 

. 


• 


. 44 

Forest of, 


. 


• 

57 

Arm, The, of Charlemagne, 

• 


• 


. 78 

Attigny, Village of, ... 


. 


. 

30 

Aulus-Gellius, .... 

• 


• 


• 3 6 

Austria, Elizabeth of, 


. 


• 

42 

B. 






Bacharach, Town of, . 

. 


• 


. 154 

Banks of the Meuse, 


. 


. 

5i 

Barbers’ Village, Legend of, 

. 


• 


. 149 

Barberousse, Frederick, . 


. 



78, 82 

Barthelemy de Holzhausen, Tomb of, 




. 226 

Battle of Montmirail, 


. 


. 

6 

Almanza, 



• 


. 104 

Rocray, .... 


. 


. 

48 

Tolbiac, 

• 


• 


• 131 

Arcis-sur-Aube, 


. 


. 

59 

Bauldour, Legend of Pecopin and, 

• 


• 


• 195 

Bazard, Roche a, 


. 


. 

52 

Bell of Velmich, Legend of, 

• 


• 


• 135 

Berdolet, Antoine, .... 


# 


. 

81 

Bernard, Saint, .... 

• 


• 


. 29 


I?idex. 


25 7 


Berwick, Marshal, 

PAGE 

. 104 

Bingen, Town of, 

• 225 

Bossuet, Bishop of Meaux, 

9 

Bouchardon, 

. 29 

Bourg, Castle of, 

29 

Buonaparte, Napoleon. See Napoleon I. 
Boar of Ardennes, 

44 

Bourgoyne, Dukes of, .... 

. 29 

Brisquet, The Court Fool, 

17 

Brutus, 

• 37 

Braine-sur-Vesle, Town of, 

4i 

Bussee, Jean, 

. 43 


C. 


Caesar, Julius, 

33 

Cardinal Richelieu, .... 
Cardinal Richelieu. See Richelieu. 

• 43 

Castle of Cobons, .... 

. 29 

Bourg, .... 

29 

Humes, .... 

. . 29 

Nuilly Cotton, 

29 

Saint Broing, 

. 29 

Chagney, .... 

29 

Hellebarde, .... 

. 41 

Castles of the Rhine, 

. . 246 

Castle of “ The Cat,” 

• 145 

“ The Mouse,” 

. 145 

Rheinfels, .... 

. 151 


258 


Index. 


Castle of Schoenberg, 

Furstemberg, . 

Heimberg, .... 
Goutenfels, 

Cathedral of Meaux, .... 
Mayence, . 

Cologne, 

Cat, The Castle of the, . 

Catherine de Medicis, 

Chagney, Castle of, ... 

Chair, The, of Charlemagne, 

Chalons, Church at, ... 

Champagne, Province of, . 

Chapel at Aix-la-Chapelle, 

Chapel of Saint Clement, . 

Saint Genevieve, . 

Charlemagne Born at Aix-la-Chapelle, 
Tomb of, . 

Arm of, 

Skull of, . 

Heart of, 

Crown of, . 

Chair of, 

Sarcophagus of, 

Charles the Simple, .... 

Charles I.,' 

Charles II., 

Charles V., 

Charles IX., .... 


PAGE 
. 152 
155 

• 155 
T 55 

• 7 
234 

. 88 

. 104 
29 
. 81 
21 
. 29 
70 
. 183 
246 
. 69 

77 
. 78 

78 

• 79 

80 
. 81 

81 

• 30 

106 

. 104 
5 

. 42 


Index. 



259 

Charles IX. (Sweden), 



PAGE 

. 43 

Charles X., 



. 21 

Chateau, Thierry, 



. 9 

Chateauneuf, Laubespine de, 



. 105 

Chatillon, Seigneur, . 



. 29 

Childebert, .... 



29 

Church of Saint Werner, . 



. 156 

Saint Martin at Colog] 

ae, 


. 100 

Church at Andernach, 



. 118, 122 

Chalons, 



. 21 

City of Mayence, 



. • 233 

Aix-la-Chapelle, 

• 


69 

Liege, .... 

• 


• 5 1 

Huy, .... 

• 


57 

Dinant, .... 

• 


. . 53 

Treves, 

• 


. 128 

Claye, 




Clermont, Village of, 

• 


28 

Clodion, . . . . . 




Clovis, 




Cobons, Castle of, 



. . 29 

Coffin of Saint Nizza, 



. 246 

Cohorn, , . . . . 



• 55 

Colbert, 



29 

Cologne, Hotel-de-Ville, . - . 



• 95 

Cathedral of, . 


• 

88 

Count Thibaut, , . . , 

• 


. . 16 

de Fontana, . 

• 

• 

. 104 

de Mirabeau, . 

% 


. . 106 


26 o 


Index . 


Count Falkenstein, 


PAGE 

. . I3 6 

Corneille, Pierre, 

• • 

. 43 

Crescentius, 

• • 

. . 127 

Crequi, Marshal de, 

• « 

. • 183 

Cromwell, Oliver, . 

• • 

. . 106 

Crown of Charlemagne, 

• 

. 80 

D. 

Dammartin, Tower of, 


• 2, 3 

Dante, .... 



Dauphin, The, 

. 

. . 20 

Description of the Rhine, . 

. 

. . 242 

of the Chapel at Aix-la-Chapelle, 76 

of Liege, 

. 

. . 60 

Devil’s Ladder, The, 

. 

. . 158 

Diane de Poitiers, 

. . 

. . 104 

Diderot, .... 



Dinant, . . ¥ 

. . 

• 52 

City of, 

. 

. . 58 

Douchery, .... 



Due, Philippe, 

. 

. . 104 

Duez, Town of, . 

. . 

. 88 

Duke de Sully, 

• • 

. • 43 

of Osunna, . . 

• • 

• • 43 

of Anjou, 

• • 

. . 22 

Dukes of Bourgoyne, 

• » 

. 29 


Index. 


261 


E. 


Edict of Nantes, 

Effigy of Philippe-le-Bel, 
Egmont, Tower of, 
Elizabeth, Madame, 
Queen, 
of Austria, 
Emperor Nicephore, . 

Ferdinand I., . 
Enghien, Duke d’, 
Epernay, Town of, . 

Churches at, 
Erard de la Mark, . 

Ethe, M., 


PAGE 


. . 104 

9 

. 49 
. 20 

• 23 

42 

. 69 

. 82 

. . 105 

11, 12, 16 
16, 17, 29 
. 64 

. . 20 


F. 


Fabricius, Jean, 
Falkenburg, Ruins of, 

Legend of the, 
Falkenstein, Ruins of, 
Count, 

Frauenlob, Henry, 
Favorinus, 

Ferdinand I., Emperor, 
Ferte-sous- Jouarre, 
Ferte-Vidame, 


43 

i73» 176, 181 

• 195 

• i37 

• • * 3 6 

• 235 

• • 33 

. . 82 

• • 3 > 11 

• • 3 


262 


Index. 


Flodoard, 

Fontana, Count de, 

Forest of the Ardennes, . 

Francis II. at Tomb of Charlemagne, 
Frankfort-on-the-Main, . 

Frastrada, Wife of Charlemagne, 
Frederick Barberousse, . 
Furstemberg, Castle of, . . , 


PAGE 
29 
. 104 

57 
. 84 

237 
. 70 
78 
• i55 


G. 


Galloway, Lord, 

. . . . 104 

Gargantua, 

• • • • 4 

Germanicus, . 

. • . 107 

Germans, The, 

• • . . 3 ° 

Gerson, Charlier de, 

.... 29 

Girardon, .... 


Givet, .... 

. 44 , 45 

Town of, . 

.32 

Gondi, Paul de, 

. . • . 29 

Gontran, King, . 

. . . . 29 

Goutenfels, Ruins of, 

• 155 

Gordiens, The, . 

.... 29 

Gregory, Saint, 

.... 69 

Grotto of Hansur-Lesse, . 

.... 52 

Gustavus Adolphus, 

. • . • 43 

Gutierez, J ose, . 

• • • • 48 


Index . 



263 

H. 

Hanault, President, 



PAGE 

. 108 

Hansur-Lesse, Grotto of, 


• 

5 2 

Hatto, Archbishop, Legend of, . 

. 

• 

. 184 

Heart of Charlemagne, . 


. 

79 

Heimberg, Ruins of, . 


• 

155, *73 

Heloise, 


. 

29 

Hellebarde, Castle of, 

. 

. 

. 41 

Henriette, Widow of Charles I., . 


. 

94, 107 

Henry III., 

• 

• 

22, 104 

Henry IV., . . . . 29, 43 

> 94, 

M 

O 

M 

O 

Henry Frauenlob, . . • 

. 

• 

• 235 

Hinemar, 



29 

Hoche, Tomb of, ... 


. 

. 120 

Homer and the Rhine, . 


. 

. 132 

Horace, 

. 

. 

• 36 

House “ Ibach,” The, 


. 

103 

Hotel-de-Ville at Aix-la-Chapelle, 

. 

. 

. 86 

at Cologne, 


• 

95 

Huguenots, The, 

• 

• 

. 22 

Humes, Castle of, . 


• 

29 

Heins, The, .... 

• 

‘ 

• 30 

Huy, City of, 


• 

57 

I. 

“ Ibach,” The House, . 

• 

• 

. 103 

Invasion of France, 1814, 


• 

. 6, 7 

Islands of the Rhine, . • 

• 


. 246 


264 


Index . 


J. 


PAGE 


Jabach. See “ Ibach.” 

James II., 104 

Jamyn, ......... 29 

Jean Bussee, ....... 43 

Jean Fabricius, ... . . 43 

Jean de Wert, no 

Jeanne, Queen, 9 

Joinville, Town of, 29 

Jose Gutierez, 48 

Joseph II., 5 

Josephine at the Tomb of Charlemagne, . 84 

Jovinus, Tomb of, 30 

Judas, 37 

Jules, Mount, 30 

Julius Caesar, 33 

K. 

Klopp, Castle of, 193 

Ruins of, 193 

Koenigstuhl, The, 247 


L. 

Ladder, The Devil’s, 158 

La Felic, 33 

La Fontaine, 9, 26 


Index. 


265 


La Sabliere, Madame, 

PAGE 

. 28 

Laubespine de Chateauneuf, . 

. 

105 

Laugres, 

. 

29 

Lautare, 


29 

Legend of Archbishop Hatto, . 

. 

184 

of the Bell of Velmich, . 


I 35 

of the Barber’s Village, 

. 

149 

of the Falkenburg, . 


i95 

of “ The Mouse,” . 

, 

140 

of Pecopin and Bauldour, 


i95 

of the Wolf, .... 

. 

70 

Legends of the Rhine, . 


129 

Legion, The Twenty-second, 

• 

127 

Leon III., 


70 

Lesse, River, 

. 

5 2 

Leutersdorf, Village of, . 


118 

Liege, City of, 

. 

5i 

Description of, 


60 

Ligny l’Abbaye, ..... 

. 

29 

Lovsberg, 


130 

Larch, Sibo de, 

. 

i55 

Lorch, Village, .... 

. 

158 

Lorraine, Henry de, . 

. 

29 

Louis Philippe, .... 

. 

21 

Louis IX., 

. 

30 

Louis XIII., . . .4 3> 94, i°4> 

106, 107, 

108 

Louis XIV., The Age of, . 

. 

9 

Louis XIV., 

3°, i°5> 

, 108 

Louis XV. 

t • 

21 


12 


266 


Index . 


PAGE 

Louis XVI., 20, 2«, 106 

Lurley, Rock of, 147 


M. 


Mabillon, .... 

# 


. . 29 

Madame Elizabeth, 


• 

. 20 

La Sabliere, 

• 


. . 28 

de Maintenon, 


. 

. . 104 

Royal, 



. . 20 

Maintenon, Madame de, 


. 

. . 104 

March, William de la, 



44 

Maria de Medicis. See Medicis. 




Marie de Mej^cis, . 



. 94, 106 

Marie Antoinette, 


. 

. . 20 

Mark, Erard de la, . 



. . 64 

Market Place of Mayence, J 


. 

. 236 

Marne, the River, . 

• 


. . 6, 28 

Marshal Turenne, 


. 

• 43 

Berwick, . . 

• 


. . 104 

de Crequi, . 


. 

. . 183 

Martin IV., .... 




Saint, .... 


• 

. . 128 

Materne, Saint, 



. . 128 

Mausethurm, Tower of, 


• 

. 186 

Mayence, City of, . 



• • 233 

Cathedral of, 



. . 234 

Market Place of, 

. 


. . 236 

Meaux, Town of, ... 


• 

• 2, 3, 7 


Index. 267 


PAGE 

Meaux, Cathedral of, 7 

Theater at, 9 

Medicis, Marie de, . . 94, 106, 107, 108 

Catherine de, 104 

Merovee, 30 

Menehould. See Saint Menehould. 

Meuse, The River, 28 

Separates Givet, 45 

Valley of the, 49 

Banks of the, 51 

Junction with the Sombre, . . *55 

Mezieres, Village of, . . 41 

Mezieres, . . / 44 

Mirabeau, Count de, 106 

Moguntiacum, . . . . . . .127 

Montmartre, . 2 

Montmirail, Battle of, ..... 6 

Montmirail, 11, 14 

Montmorency, Town of, 1 

Henry of, .... 105 

Montmort, Village of, 14 

Castle of, 14 

Mount Jules, 30 

Mountains, The Seven, ..... 97 

Mouzon, Town of, 3 ° 

Museum, Waldraf, . . . . . .110 


268 


Index. 


PAGE 

N. 


Namur, 

48, 54. 55 

Nanteuil-le-Haudoin, . 

. . 1 

Nantes, Edict of, .... 

. . 104 

Napoleon I., 

- 5 > 33 > 105 

at Aix-la-Chapelle, . 

. 82 

Napoleon Bonaparte. See Napoleon I. 


Neuilly Cotton, Castle of, . 

. 29 

Nicephore, Emperor, . 

69 

Notre Dame de l’Epine, Abbey of, 

. 23 

Noyon, 



O. 


Oberwesel, Town of, . 

• • • • • 15 1 

Oliver Cromwell, . 

106 

Orange, Prince of, 

29 

Osunna, Duke of, . 

43 


P. 


Pacuvius, 

35 

Pailly, . 

• . . . • 29 

Papirien Masson, 

. . . . . 43 

Paraclet, Village of, 

• • • • • 29 

Paradise Plain, The, 

• • • • *22 6 

Pascalus, an Actor, 

• • • • • 9 


Index . 

269 

Pecopin and Bauldour, Legend of, . 

PAGE 

• 195 

Pepin, 

37 

Philip III., 


Philippe-AugUste, .... 

29 

Philippe-le-Bel, Effigy of, . 

. 9 

Philippe Due, 

. . I04 

Pierre Corneille, .... 

• 43 

Pierre Strozzi, 

. . 16 

Plain, The Paradise, .... 

. . 226 

Plato, 


Pliny. 


Poets of Tartary, .... 

35 

Poitiers, Diane de, 

. . 104 

President Hanault, .... 

. . 108 

Prince of Orange, .... 

. . 29 

Provium, Village of, 

29 

Province of Champagne, . 

. . 29 

9 - 

Queen Elizabeth, .... 

• • 23 

Queen Jeanne, ..... 

• 9 


R. 


Racine, 

9 

Rat Tower, The, 

187 

See Hatto. 



270 


Index . 


Relics at Aix-la-Chapelle, . 

PAGE 

• 69, 79 

Revolution of 1830, 

6 

Rheims, City of, . 

21, 29 

Rheinfels, Castle of, 

. 151 

Rhine, Legends of, 

. . . 129 

Reflections on, 

124 

Description of the, . 

. . . 242 

Islands of the, 

. . . 246 

Castles of the, 

. . . 248 

Richelieu, Cardinal, 

. 43, 94, 106, 108 

Rigomagum, .... 

. . . 128 

River Lesse, .... 

52 

Meuse, The, 

. 28 

Marne, The, . 

. 6, 28 

Rhine, The. See Rhine. 
Vesdre, The, . 

66 

Ruvigny (Lord Galloway), 

. . 104 

Roche a Bazard, 

52 

Rock of Lurley, .... 

. 147 

Rocoles, 

35 

Rocroy, Battle of, 

. 48, 104 

Rome and the Rhine, 

. . . 127 

Royale, Madame, 

. . 20 

Rubens, Birth of, 

94 

Ruins of Falkenburg, 

. 173, 176, 181 

Falkenstein, 

137 

Furstemburg, 

• 155 

Goutenfels, 

• 155 

Heimberg, . 

i55> i73 


Index . 


271 


<» 

PAGE 

Ruins of the Klopp, . 

. 193 

“ The Mouse,” 

139, 142 

Rheinfels, . 

. 151 

Schoenberg, 

i5 2 

Sonnech, 

i55 

Sonneck, . 

. i73 

Russians, The, .... 

. 30 

Saint Apollinaire, . 

. 128 

Bernard, .... 

. . . 29 

Broing, Castle of, 

29 

Dezier, .... 

. . . 29 

Genevieve, Chapel of, . 

. , . 246 

Gregory, .... 

. 69 

Hubert, Abbot of, . 

30 

Ida, Tomb of, . 

. . . 246 

Jean-des-Vignes, . 

33 

Louis. See Louis IX. 


Menehould, Town of, . 

. 19, 24, 25, 2 7, 30 

Martin, .... 

. 128 

Materne, 

. . . 128 

Nizza, Coffin of, 

. . . 246 

Simon, .... 

• 3 > 9 

Thomas, Abbey of, . 

. 119 

Sanson, Village of, 

57 

Sarcophagus of Charlemagne, 

. 81 

Schleis, Kotten, 

. . . no 

Sedan, Town of, . 

42, 43, 44 

Seven Mountains, The, . 

97 

Sezenne, 

. 29 


2J2 


Index . 


Shakspeare and the Rhine, 

PAGE 

1 3 2 

Shoenberg, Ruins of, . 

. i5 2 

Sibo de Larch, 

• i55 

Simbourg, Town of, . 

. 68 

Skull of Charlemagne, . 

. . 78 

Soissons, Town of, ... 

L 32 , 33, 37 

Sombre, Junction with the Meuse, . 

55 

Sonnech, Castle of, 

• i55 

Sonneck, Ruins of, . 

• 173 

Spain, Philip III., King of, 

• 43 

Spire, Vindelin de, . 

. 130 

Saint Clement, Chapel of, . 

. • 183 

Denis, Town of, . 

1 

Goar, Town of, . 

• 144, 145 

Martin, Church of, at Cologne, 

100 

Werner, Church of, . 

. 156 

Strozzi, Pierre, .... 

. 16 

Suessonium, 

• 37 

Sueves, The, 

30 

Sully, Duke de, 

• 43 

Sweden, Gustavus Adolphus, King of, 

43 

• Charles IX., King of, . 

. 43 



T. 

Tolbiac, Battle of, 

131 

Taunus, . 

128 

Tartary, Ports of 

35 


Index. 


273 


PAGE 

The Dauphin, 20 

“ The Mouse,” Ruins of, . . . 139, 142 

Theater at Meaux, 9 

Paris, 9 

Theodoric, 30 

Thibaut, Count, 16 

Thibaut IV., 28 

Thou, President of, 105 

Three Wise Men of the East, Town of,. . 93 

Tomb of Barthelemy de Holzhausen, . . 226 

Charlemagne, 77 

Napoleon I at, . . 84 

Josephine at, . . 84 

Alexander I., at, . . 84 

Frederick William I. at, 84 

Hoche, 120 

Jovinus, 3° 

Marie de Medicis, . . . .94 

Saint Ida, 246 

The Three Wise Men of the East, . 93 

Tongres, 128 

Touchard, 3 

Tower of Dammartin, 2, 3 

Egmont, 49 

Mausethurm, . . . .186 

The Rat, .187 

See Hatto. 

Town of Andernach, 118 

Bacharach, 154 


274 


Index. 


Town of Bingen, 

PAGE 

. 225 

Braint Sur-Vesle, 

. 41 

Duez, 

88 

Epernay, 

. . . 11 

Givet, 

32 

Meaux, 

. . . 1 

Montmorency, . 

. . . 1 

Mouzon, 

. 30 

Oberwesel, 

. 151 

St. Denis, 

. . . 1 

Sainte Menehould, . 

19 

Sedan, .... 

• 43 > 43 

Simbourg, 

68 

Soissons, 

• 37 

St. Goar, . 

. 144, 145 

Varennes, 

. 32 

Verviers, . 

68 

Treves, City of, . 

. 128 

Troyes, 

30 

Turenne, Marshal 

• 43 

Twenty-Second Legion, . 

. . . 127 


V. 

Valentin, 

Valentinian, ... . . . n8 

Valley of the Meuse, 

Valley of Wisperthall, . . . . . I5S 


Index 


275 


Vandals, The, 

Varennes, 

Varennes, Town of, . 
Vauban, . 

Vaux Champs, . 
Velmich, Village of, 
Verviers, Town of, 
Vesdre, The River, . 
Village of Larch, 

Mezieres, 
Montmarte, 
Sanson, . 
Velmich, . 
Weiss Thurm, 
Villers-Cotterets, 
Vindelin de Spire, . 
Virgil and the Rhine, 


PAGE 

• 30 
19 

• 32 
55 

• 17 

i34 
. 68 
66 
. 168 
4i 
. 14 
57 

• i34 
121 

I > 32 

130 

. 132 


W. 


Waldraf Museum, ... . . . .110 

Weiss Thurm, Village of, 120 

Wert, Jean de, . . . . .110 

William de la March, . . . . 44 

Wisperthall, Valley of, . . • . 155 

Wolf Legend of the, . 7 ° 














I 



















. *■ ,- >v * iVl r ' Vfc 




»• 






























- tr 










^ V i n* - J- gyt . 









































, 
















* 










’ 

























% 






• 






























. 


























* 

ft - - • , 










































\ 


* 











» 















. 




















msgftr % & 

4 

W. 

















.. 































' 

’ 

I K 4 

v ' * • % » : ■ l ; . J ^ 

• - •, ' * 











































- 

1 . 

t 




























m 










i . 































































